


The Tunnel

by ClownINC



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, slow burn?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:48:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 23,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24653368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClownINC/pseuds/ClownINC
Summary: Hanzo questions his decision of going to Overwatch's base and taking part in a mission. He feels as though he does not belong there, and the other agents seem to believe the same. Maybe he does not belong there, and maybe that is okay. Perhaps someone else feels the same way and it only takes a mission gone wrong to figure it out.
Relationships: Jesse McCree/Hanzo Shimada
Comments: 24
Kudos: 161





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, this story was written for me personally. Lately I've been stuck in a writing rut so I'm using this as a way to wiggle myself out. This is also a way for me to practice writing. That being said, there are probably tons of mistakes littered through this since I'm the only one editing. If the mistakes bothers you, I apologize in advance.  
> Anyhow, thank you to everyone who takes the time to even glance at this. Thank you.

On the cliffside of Gibraltar, waves crashed against the rocks below. The wind blew gently but with enough force to make the long wild grass sway. Seagulls cried in their flocks in the sky, and in the bushes, crickets started to chirp their songs. The sun was starting to set, shining its last hour of light and warmth down onto Hanzo.

He sat on a patch of tall grass that had been flattened down, facing the sun and the water below. With his eyes closed, he embraced the sun’s warmth. He took a deep breath, taking in the salty scent of Gibraltar’s Strait.

The area he sat on was off the path between Overwatch’s practice arena and the barracks, down an overgrown trail that led to an unkept lookout tower. Hanzo had found it out of curiosity during a nighttime run and discovered the quiet escape that it could provide. Since then, he had been using it as a place for him to unwind and experience the peaceful isolation that he had been missing. It was perfect; for a while.

Taking in another deep breath, a new scent tinged his senses.

Cigar smoke.

Hanzo’s eyes snapped open and whipped his sights up towards the lookout tower. There stood a man, highlighted by the sun. Hanzo did not need to see his ridiculous cowboy hat to know who the man was, for he had been sharing this spot with him since the day it was discovered.

Jesse McCree. An old agent of Overwatch and its covert ops division, Blackwatch, and has a past with the Deadlock Gang. Before coming back to the base, he was a bounty hunting cowboy with a rather large sum of money on his own head. He was the last former agent to come back.

On the lookout tower, Jesse McCree held a cigar between his fingers that he had been nursing and brought it to his lips. He looked down at Hanzo down below, glaring underneath his Stetson hat. With one last puff, McCree flicked the cigar in Hanzo’s direction. It flew in the air before landing in Hanzo’s area of flattened out grass. Hanzo did not dare to look down at the cigar. Instead, he kept eye contact with the man and glared back.

Since their arrival at the base, seven weeks back, the two had yet to say a word to each other. McCree refused to, and Hanzo acted as though he did not care. In truth, He was looking forward to speaking to the cowboy. His brother Genji, who had once worked alongside McCree, had told Hanzo stories of their missions and the wit and charm the cowboy had possessed. But McCree had made it clear through his gestures and attitude that he did not share the same anticipation to meet. Hanzo began to wonder what kind of stories Genji had shared with McCree when they first worked with each other. He knew of Hanzo’s sin.

Despite their different feelings, they managed to share the space along the cliffside. Sure, that was not the first time that McCree had thrown a cigar at him, but it was not enough to scare Hanzo off. And if anything, Hanzo deserved to claim the spot as his own since he was there more often than McCree was. But once again, they were able to share.

* * *

Hanzo woke up before the break of dawn to the sight of the grey walls. It felt odd for him to consider the room to be his own. After years of wandering, constantly moving from one place to the next, imagining himself hunkering down was hard. He had not even decided whether or not he wanted to stay with Overwatch. He was not there to be a part of the team, he just wanted to do something for his brother.

With a sigh, Hanzo pushed himself up and out of bed. The room he was assigned was small and only took four steps to cross from his bed to the dresser. He opened the drawer and was met with Overwatch issued clothing that smelled like dust. The few clothes he had brought sat in the hamper, so he was left with no choice but to pull on a white shirt and navy-blue sweatpants that showed off Overwatch’s logo. Looking into the mirror beside the dresser, Hanzo felt like a walking advertisement for the organization.

He picked up a hair band that sat on the top of his dresser and started to put his hair up. He watched his hands work in the mirror. He gathered as many black strands that he could, but with his hair being so short, he could not help but to have a chunk or two left out. In the end, he was left with a short bobtail that stuck up.

Hanzo stood there for a while, staring at his hair. The sides were starting to go grey and grey strands started to pepper through the rest of his hair and beard. He was starting to look old even though he did not feel like it. But as he was starting to approach the age of forty, the idea of him starting to slow down formed in his mind. It was something he did not fear, he knew he would not live long enough for it to happen.

He shook himself out of his thoughts and turned away from his reflection. With nothing left to do in the room, Hanzo grabbed his water bottle, slipped on shoes, and left.

Hanzo walked through the empty hallway and passed doors that led to empty rooms. The doors that were occupied had name plates on the front. Before passing it, Hanzo stopped in front of Genji’s door. He listened for any sign that his brother may be awake, but all was silent. He continued on.

Outside the barracks and on the path towards Overwatch’s main building, the sun crept out of the horizon and turned the sky pink. In the trees, birds sang their morning song and others annoyingly squawked. As he walked, grasshoppers leaped away from the paved way and back into the tall grass. Up ahead, a redheaded woman was jogging towards him.

Brigitte. She came to Gibraltar alongside her father Torbjörn and her godfather Reinhardt, both of whom were former overwatch agents. To Hanzo’s knowledge, she was a mechanic like her father and had been helping with upkeeping with agents’ armour.

Hanzo and her were not friends, but friendly. Nearly every morning on the base, they would pass each other.

“Good morning!” Brigitte said cheerfully as she jogged near.

Hanzo managed to nod at her before she passed behind him. 

After walking for a few minutes more, Hanzo finally reached the main building. He opened the doors and entered another empty hallway that split off into more hallways. He took the one that led to the mess hall. It was there where Hanzo found two people sitting at one of the long tables that stretched across the room.

Dr. Zhou sat across from Dr. Ziegler with two cups of coffee between them. Dr. Zhou spoke very energetically and acted out her words with hand gestures while Dr. Zeigler nodded tiredly along. They did not notice Hanzo until he walked past them to reach the kitchen.

“Oh! Good morning, Hanzo!” Dr. Zhou called out to him.

Dr. Ziegler looked over her shoulder, giving him a rather displeased look. She, like many former agents, was not in favour of Hanzo. Understandably so, they all knew what he had done to Genji. If Hanzo was one of them, he would feel the same way.

“Good morning.” Hanzo said as he continued to walk.

“Did you get up early or are you still staying up late?” Dr. Zhou asked.

“Up early. And yourself?”

“Same.” She responded and looked over at Dr. Ziegler for her answer.

“Up late.” Dr. Ziegler said, reluctantly.

Hanzo walked into the kitchen that was just off the mess hall. He could still see them through the cut out in the wall. At the sink, he turned the tap on and let it run cold before filling up his water bottle.

“Good mornin’, ladies.” The southern drawl made Hanzo look up from the running water. Jesse McCree was walking up to Dr. Ziegler and leaned against her side of the table. “Up early? Or just staying up late?

Dr. Ziegler groaned. “I just answered that question.”

“Oh?” He raised a brow and looked up towards the kitchen. Catching eyes with Hanzo, his brows then furrowed. “Oh.”

“And,” Dr. Ziegler continued. “you smell like smoke.”

McCree grabbed his flannel shirt and brought it to his nose. He took in a big whiff. “Really? Don’t smell nothin’.” He said.

“Well, I do. I would hope that you’re not smoking in your room.”

“Yeah, yeah. Thanks for the input, Angie.” He patted her on the back. “I’m just here for a cup of coffee, not for you to mother me.”

Hanzo looked down at his bottle that overflowed with water as McCree approached the kitchen. He turned off the tap and waited for McCree to enter the room before leaving.

To his relief, no one was in the practice range when Hanzo arrived. The open area allowed for the morning breeze to brush past Hanzo. It cooled him down and relaxed his stress from the too many interactions he had already that morning. Being around so many people was still something for him to get used too. Before coming to Gibraltar, Hanzo did not have much of a social life. Majority of the people he talked to were the ones paying him for a hitjob.

Hanzo moved into the weight room that had windows facing the range. Luckily for him, no one was in there either. He set his water bottle down beside him on the floor and started with stretches. With his legs apart, he reached over to one leg and touched his toes, feeling the pull in his muscles when holding the pose. He then repeated with the other leg. From there, Hanzo worked his way up his body. He stretched his back in a way that made it pop in an almost orgasmic way, the knots in his neck loosened, and his arms felt ready to be put to work.

One thing Hanzo appreciated about Overwatch was the gym equipment they had. During his wanders, he had a hard time accessing such equipment. Not many of the cheap hotels he went to had gyms, and if they did, they were rather sparse. And for the nights spent in abandoned buildings, he used whatever was left behind in any way he could. Staying in shape was very important, for his body was a weapon that had kept him alive.

Sure, living underneath his skin were the spirits of dragons, but Hanzo refused to rely on them.

After stretching, Hanzo moved onto the weights. He worked out there until Brigette came in with a bottle in one hand and an orange in the other.

“Oh, Hey.” She said as she walked in.

Sweaty and in the middle of doing Lat pulldowns, Hanzo grunted out a “Hello.”

Brigitte moved through the room and towards an old stereo that sat on a table in the back. “Do you mind if I turn this on?” She asked. “I can’t work out listening to myself.”

“Go ahead.”

She plugged the stereo in and it came to life. Through the speakers boomed out pop radio music, and Hanzo tried not to be bothered by the terrible sound, but he was. He decided that he had done enough for one morning and stood up from the machinery. He grabbed a bottle of disinfectant and started to wipe it down.

“By the way,” Brigitte said over the music. “We’re having a briefing in Winston’s lab at noon.”

Hanzo nodded his head, but when he looked over at her, Brigitte’s back was turned with her attention on the weight rack. While he did appreciate her friendliness, she was one to talk on for hours. To dare to say another word would be risking getting wrapped into a conversation with her. So, he picked up his water bottle and left the room.

He was glad for leaving when he did. With the sun on the rise and the clock chiming for six am, nearly everyone would be getting up and starting their own routines. In fact, as Hanzo walked out of the weight room, he came across Reinhardt and Lena who were making their way in.

“Good morning!” Reinhardt said with his full chest. While everyone on the base was loud, no one could compare to him. He was built like a giant and it was impossible for him to speak as low as a whisper.

“Morning.” Hanzo nodded his head.

Lena, who was the size of a mouse standing beside Reinhardt, stopped Hanzo by putting her hands out. “Your brother was looking for you.” She said. Usually she was very chipper towards other agents, but to Hanzo, she spoke very low as though she should not be speaking to him at all. Her hands then fell to her sides. “Just letting you know. He should be in the mess hall.”

Hanzo nodded his head again. “Thank you for telling me.” And with that, he walked around them and went back the way he came. 

Genji sat across from Dr. Zeigler where Dr. Zhou used to sit. Dr. Zeigler was resting her head, comforted by her arms on the table. As her shoulders rose and fell, Genji stared down at his own mug, tracing his finger along the rim. He looked up when Hanzo walked in and waved him over.

Hanzo found himself staggering in his steps. His brother was a very disorientating sight. Hanzo still expected to see the boy he once knew before he rounded the corner to see a mechanical being who’s whirling machinery masked the sound of his own breathing. And around the base, Genji often left his facial visor off, showing off the flesh and metal that had been meshed together. Hanzo could never bear to look. It caused him to question who Genji could have possibly been if he had not cut him down.

“Hanzo!” Genji called out to him. Luckily, he was wearing the visor. “Don’t just stand there!”

Hanzo took in a deep breath before making his way over and taking the chair next to Genji. He moved his seat back, creating space for himself. “So,” He said slowly, “I was told that you were looking for me.”

“Yes.” Genji nodded, then changed to their native tongue. “ _I wanted to talk to you about the upcoming mission._ ”

“ _Is that what we’re going to be talking about in today’s meeting?_ ”

“ _Yes, Dr. Ziegler told me about it_.” He gestured towards the doctor who had fallen asleep on the table. “ _Winston wants you on the field. I’m telling you this now cause I’m assuming you still don’t like surprises._ ”

The consideration tugged a slight smile on his face. “ _Your assumption is correct. What else do you know about this mission?_ ”

“ _Not much. One thing I will say is that Angela brought up the idea that you might run away_.”

“ _What? Like some dog?_ ”

“ _To be fair, you aren’t exactly leashed._ ”

Hanzo crossed his arm, still slick with sweat. “I would not do such a thing.” He said in English.

Genji shrugged his shoulders. “I’m simply telling you what people’s concerns are.” He leaned in closer towards Hanzo, causing him to flinch back. “ _And I just want you to know that this is something that I do not worry about because I trust you—_ ”

The sound of clattering pans rang out from the kitchen, quickly followed by cursing. Dr. Zeigler startled from her sleep and immediately reached over towards Genji to slap his metallic arm. 

“You were supposed to not let me doze off!” She exclaimed.

“I thought that you deserved the rest.” Genji said coolly.

Out from the kitchen stumbled out Torbjörn with anger plastered on his face. “For my sake! Can we please have the pans on a lower shelf! I nearly killed myself just trying to reach for the skillet!” He used his mechanical hand to point at Genji. “Boy, help me with this mess.”

Genji sighed and pushed out his chair. “I’ll talk to you later.” He said to Hanzo as he stood up. “ _And take a shower. You smell_.”

He disappeared into the kitchen with Torbjörn, leaving Dr. Zeigler and Hanzo at the table. It didn’t take long for her to come up with an excuse to get up as well, leaving Hanzo alone.

Hanzo stood in a stall at the communal showers. With his head against the tile wall, the hot water that came from above ran down his neck and over the rest of his body. He breathed in the steam that rose around him.

Genji’s worlds, “ _You might run away_.” Looped inside his head.

He started to imagine it. During the night while everyone was asleep, Hanzo would pack his things and run. Or in the midst of a battle, while the dust hung heavy in the air, he would run then. He could make up an excuse to leave for a moment and never return. He started to make lists of this and that.

Then, His thoughts echoed back at him, _but why_?

Because he did not want to be there anymore, Hanzo admitted to himself. It felt wrong. Granted, he knew that he was mainly there for Genji, but that felt wrong too. The person Genji had become was no longer his brother. He had killed him. His brother would not have helped an old short man clean up a kitchen, he would have made someone else do it. His brother would not have let a pretty woman get a moment’s rest, he would have made her listen to his constant ramblings and terrible jokes. He was someone who held grudges and turned things into petty fights. He would have never forgiven Hanzo. His brother would have terrorized Hanzo by haunting him for the rest of his life. And even though Genji was alive, he haunted him still.

He questioned whether or not getting to know this new Genji was worth his time. Being around this new Genji was a reminder of something that Hanzo could already never forget. The other agents on the base were reminders as well. While few were kind to him, it was out of necessity in order to keep their team together. Deep down, Hanzo knew that they despised him just as much as he despised himself.

Hanzo lifted his chin up and faced the shower. The pressure of the water pounded against his head, drowning his thoughts out.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Not fully edited so I apologize for any mistakes in advance

The table in Winston’s lab had evidently been cleared off last minute as all of his clutter still remained scattered across the floor. The table was also too small seat to everyone. Reinhard was left to stand because forcing him to sit shoulder to shoulder with someone would be cruel to anyone involved, and Winston stood at the head of table due to not having a proper chair that would fit the table and his gorilla body.

Hanzo sat between Genji and Brigitte. It was too close for his comfort. He was willing to stand, but he did not know how long the briefing would take so staying seated as the safer option. With a sigh, he accepted his fate. Across from him sat McCree who was getting himself comfortable. He kicked his legs up and crossed them on top of the table, clicking his spurs against the tabletop and showed off the bottom of his boots. He tipped his hat down, hiding his eyes behind the brim.

Dr. Zeigler, struggling to keep her head off the table, weakly batted at McCree’s Prosthetic arm. “Jesse, put your legs down.” she scolded. “You’re not a child.”

McCree did as he was told. “Sorry for makin’ myself at home.” he muttered.

On the other side of McCree, Lena rolled her eyes playfully and looked at Mei who let out a giggle at the scene. 

As everyone started to settle, Winston stood thumbing through papers he had on a clipboard. His hands shook, Hanzo noticed. It reminded him of what his father had told him, to never show nervousness for it shows that you question your own judgment and will lead to others questioning you. In this situation, it proved his father true. He wondered if the monkey could even bear the responsibility of being a leader, let alone a leader of an illegal organization.

Winston adjusted his glasses and cleared his throat. “Uh, Athena? Can you please dim the lights?”

Overwatch’s AI responded by doing so.

“Thank you.” He took one last glance down at his papers before scanning all the faces around the table. “So, before we begin, I would like to say thank you all for coming. Truly. With the Petras Act still enabled, I acknowledge that you are all risking your livelihood to be here, but we are all together for the best interest in the world. And for me, any risk is worth taking to better our society.”

Winston continued on. “Another thing I will say is that, hopefully soon, it won’t just be the ten of us here, well, eleven including Athena. But, uh, yeah, I have been in contact with figures such as Lúcio Correia dos Santos—”

“The DJ?” Lena blurted out.

“Yes. And Hana Song—”

“The MEKA streamer?” Brigitte shouted.

Torbjörn, sitting at the other end of the table, slammed a hand down. “Oh, will you please stop interrupting! Let the guy finish already!”

Winston sighed. “Thank you. Anyhow, I have also been talking with Fareeha—”

Hanzo did not know who she was, but the room nearly erupted. Even his brother who wore his visor seemed to be happy to hear about this woman. McCree across from him was slack-jawed. He was surrounded by children. The complete lack of professionalism made his teeth grind. If this was the clan, Hanzo thought, everyone in the room would have been killed three times over.

“Everyone! Please!” Winston shouted over the voices. “Please!”

Everyone came back down to silence.

“I’m not going to make any promises that any of the three will be coming, but I thought that it should be mentioned. Now, I digress. We’re here to discuss our first mission.” He said. “Athena, will you please put up the projection?”

A hologram came up from the centre of the table in the image of a bar. From the outside, it looked like any other high-end bar that Hanzo had been to. Very modern with its simple aesthetics and clean architecture. In bold lettering, the top of the building read _Voltaic Opulence_.

“This is Voltaic Opulence, a bar in Los Angeles that is being suspected for being a front for Talon. According to my sources, the bar may be used for finding new cliental and potential recruits. I plan for this to be a very, uh, non-lethal mission? No casualties. Just go in, talk to people and gain useful information to confirm my sources, then come out.” Winston explained. “And I should have mentioned this before, but I imagine this to be an undercover operation.”

The group stayed silent, waiting for Winston to explain more, but he never did.

“Winston.” Athena’s voice chimed through the ceiling speaker. “You are forgetting something.”

“Oh! Uh—.” He looked back through his papers, readjusting his glasses as he read. “Sorry about that! It just went over my mind to say who’d be actually involved. Um. I plan for Hanzo to go undercover as our main ‘associate’ since, appearance wise, he would be someone who would fit the scene. Hopefully he will talk to someone who may be an information broker.”

All eyes turned to Hanzo, burning their gaze into him. He found himself tempted to bounce his leg underneath the table, but fought through his nervous habit. He could not squirm underneath their pressure; he could not give them that. So, Hanzo sat up straight with his head held high.

“I accept this role.” Hanzo announced. “I promise to give you my best efforts.”

“Thank you, Hanzo. I am sure that you will do great.” Winston said. “Now, to go with you, I have McCree to play the role as your bodyguard.”

“Hold on.” McCree leaned over the table, wagging his finger at Winston. “I don’t think it would be a good idea for me to go. Not really the bodyguard lookin’ type. You should send Reinhardt out for that role instead.” He said, turning his finger to point at Reinhardt who stood behind him.

“Reinhardt is too recognizable and too big of a tie to Overwatch. At least if someone were to recognize you, they’d assume that you were working a job in the area.” Winston explained.

“Well, if they recognize me, they might shoot me. Can’t forget about my bounty.”

“You’ve managed to run from your bounty for this long.” Winston put it simply.

Frustration grew on McCree’s face. “Well, what if Hanzo got recognized? What about that?”

“I cannot see that happening.” Hanzo interjected. “I have only done a few jobs in America, all of which concluded with no face-to-face interactions with those who hired me and anyone outside of the job.” He looked at McCree, locking eyes with him. His words came automatically. “Unlike _you_ , I do not like to make a show out of myself that ends with my face landing on a wanted poster.”

McCree pressed his lips together and took in a deep breath. He started to reach for his flannel pocket, pulling out a cigar. “Winston, is there anythin’ else I need to know? Anyone else comin’? where are we stayin’? How long are we gonna be there? When are we leavin’?” He listed, waving his hand around with the cigar between his fingers. “Just make it quick for me. Please.”

“Um, well, I have it planned that just you two go since I find the both of you to be very self-sufficient. Of course, Lena will be the ones to fly you there, but she won’t be staying. Since this is something I’ve thought about in advance, I already have hotel rooms booked in for five days. But if you guys feel as though you need more time to gather information, I will extend your stay—.”

“Okay, but when are we leavin’?”

“Three days from now on Wednesday. It should be a twenty-four-hour long flight if things go well, giving you two time to prep on Friday and start collection information at the bar starting Saturday.”

“Okay, Okay.” McCree stood up from his seat. He brought the cigar up to his lips and let it hang at the corner of his mouth. “Send me any other information that I need to know along with an overview of this mission. Please and thank you.”

McCree walked out of the room.

If this was Hanzo’s clan, McCree would have been killed over and over for a decade’s worth of time.

The briefing ended swiftly after.

Hanzo stood on the rooftop of an old building not far from the entrance to Winston’s Office. He faced the view of the strait. In the distance, he could see ships drive through the water, coming in and out of the port town not far from the base. The sun was blocked by clouds in the sky and the cold wind brushed past him, tousling his damp hair.

Coming up from the stairs that lead to the rooftop, Genji appeared in front of him. “I think that went well.” He said.

“Hardly.”

Genji took the rest of the stairs up and stood beside his brother. He turned to face the view. “ _I’m glad that you accepted the mission. I think that it will be good for you to have some time off the base._ ” He said. “ _And I still trust you not to run off, abandoning us all._ ”

“ _I will not run off._ ” A small smirk came to Hanzo’s lips. “ _But I am not sure about Mr. McCree. He might just do so to get away from me._ ”

“ _I have a growing suspicion that he doesn’t like you all that much._ ”

“ _I have the suspicion that he hates me, considering he has thrown his cigars at me before._ ”

“ _What?_ ” Genji looked at him, but his brother kept his sights forward. “ _He’s thrown cigars at you?_ ”

Hanzo shrugged. “Though it is petty, he can be childish if he wishes. I do not blame him either for thinking of me so lowly, I assume the stories about me that you told him gave him that mindset, rightfully so.”

Genji’s shoulders fell. “Hanzo, you know that I—”

“I know that you have forgiven me, but do your colleges? They had to deal with the aftermath of my actions. I believe that they have the right to hold their own grudges and feelings towards me.”

There was a moment of silence. The air hung heavy between them.

“Hanzo,” Genji said slowly. “Either way, McCree should not be throwing cigars at anyone. Do you want me to talk to him about this?”

“No.” He retorted.

“Are you sure?”

Hanzo pinched the bridge of his nose and tipped his head down. “Yes. I am sure. I do not need you to coddle me about this issue.” He grumbled. “Can you please leave? I wish to be alone.”

Genji took a step back, nodding his head with comprehension. “If you need anything, you know where to find me.” He said before descending down the stairs

If it were not for Hanzo’s mixed emotions, he could have laughed. Hanzo never knew where to find his brother. It seemed as though Genji never went to the same place more than once. It was always Genji who sought him out or got someone to relay a message to Hanzo to tell him where his brother wanted to meet. Even before coming to the base, it was Genji who found him.

The first time was in Hanamura in their old home, the Shimada Castle. A month later, Genji had found Hanzo a second time at a busy train station in Kobe. One week later, Genji caught up with him a third time in a bar in Osaka. That was where Genji asked him to join Overwatch, and Hanzo was just intoxicated enough to agree.

“ _You want me to join Overwatch?_ ” Hanzo had said, slurring his Japanese. In his hand, he spun around an empty can of beer. Usually he would indulge in something finer, but that night had been a sad one. “ _Me? You must be joking._ ”

Genji sat on the bar stool next to his brother with a glass of water that was left untouched. “ _I’m serious! We could really use someone like you!”_

_“Perhaps, but I’m sure they won’t like someone like me. They know what I’ve done._ ”

“ _They know of our past conflicts, but I believe that they will pay no mind to it. Your skill is more important than that._ ”

Hanzo’s eyebrows hitched up. “I don’t know.” He shook his head. “ _I prefer to work with no peer. I don’t wish to be tethered to an organization._ ”

“ _You won’t be tethered. You can live on the base for a few months if you wish, go on some missions, and if you don’t like it, you are free to leave._ ”

“ _But—_ ”

“ _Hanzo, please consider it._ ” Genji spouted out. “ _I’ve already told you about how the world is changing, and how you need to pick a side. But that side has to be mine. I cannot bear to fight with you ever again._ ” 

Hanzo’s head dipped down, staring directly at the wooden countertop of the bar. He tried to think, but the sounds and voices in the bar muddled his thoughts. He thought that one for drink could give him clarity, so he flagged down the bartender.

Hanzo sighed at the memory. He was a fool for agreeing, and he was sure that Genji used his intoxication as an advantage. The morning after, he did consider not following through, but he realized it was the one thing he could do for his brother. To give it a try.

And trying he was, but he nearly hated every moment of it.

Licking his lips, he suddenly felt thirsty.

The rest of the day went by as a blur. Hanzo spent a considerable amount of time in ‘his’ room, going through the mission overview and doing additional research about the bar that he will be infiltrating. Afterwards, he opened up the tiny equipment closet. His Kyūdō Gi hung on a hanger with the golden ribbon he wore with it wrapped around the hook. The case for his bow and the quiver for his arrows took up most of the space and only left room for one last thing, his calabash wine gourd. He reached in and pulled it out. Bringing it up to his ear, he shook it and heard the satisfying sound of liquid inside.

Hanzo took the gourd with him to his spot on the cliffside. The sun was not meant to set for another three hours, but he did not care. He was there alone, and that was what mattered most. The top of the gourd screwed off and the sake inside greeted Hanzo with its sugary aroma. He brought it to his lips, taking a sip.

The warmth of the liquor placed a blanket around him. A few sips more, his mind was put at ease. He could feel the tension in his face melt away. He felt lighter.

A part of him wished that he had snagged something to eat before going down to the cliffside. With an empty stomach, the alcohol was like a subtle flame inside of him. He could have gone down to the kitchen to grab something, but it was late into the evening and nearly everyone would be in the mess hall to eat. Hanzo did not want to show his face. His cheeks were burning and he could picture himself looking flushed.

Like a bell, jingling sounds rung through the open and caught Hanzo’s ears. The sound was approaching. He froze with his gourd in his hands, waiting for the jingling to pass. Instead of passing, it stopped. 

“Can we talk?”

Hanzo turned around slowly.

Elevated by the land, McCree stood at the start of the trail that lead down to him. The tall grass around him framed McCree like a picture from Hanzo’s perspective. He wore western boots with dark denim jeans tucked into them. He kept on the same red flannel from earlier, but had it unbuttoned, showing the tight black shirt he wore underneath. His dark hair that matched his beard peaked out from his hat and went past the jawline of his sun-kissed face. Between his lips sat a lit cigar, because he was hardly ever seen without one. With his brown eyes, he glared down at Hanzo.

Even in Hanzo’s intoxicated daze, the first thing he truly noticed was the holster around McCree’s waist and the way his hand hovered over his gun.

“Are you planning on shooting me?” Hanzo shouted up at him.

“What?” McCree shouted back, then looked down at his hand. He moved it and let it rest on the bump of his hip. Hanzo made the assumption that it was a habit. “Well, I wasn’t planin’ on it.”

With his metal prosthetic hand, he pinched the cigar between his fingers and moved it out from his lips. “Just here to talk, promise.” McCree assured.

Hanzo could not care to talk to him. The cowboy had ruined his peace and he was eager to have him gone. He turned his nose to the other direction.

“Okay, look, I’m here to say sorry.”

Hanzo squinted at him from over his shoulder and watched McCree take a few steps down the trail. “Sorry about what, exactly?” He questioned.

“About the briefin’. It was rude of me to act the way I did.” He explained. “So, I apologize for that.”

Hanzo waited for more, but McCree did not seem to be in a rush to speak. The cowboy took another inhale of smoke and pushed it out through his nose. He was a bull, looking for a challenge. Hanzo always loved a challenge.

“Is that it?” He scoffed. “You honestly cannot think of anything else to apologize for?”

McCree’s face twisted. “Like what. Please, Mister Shimada, tell me what else I’ve done just to jog my memory.”

Hanzo gestured to the pile of cigars that laid in the grass close to him. “Perhaps throwing these at me comes to mind?”

He rolled his eyes. “I don’t throw them at you. Haven’t hit you with one either.”

“You just throw them in my general direction then?”

“Could say that, yes.”

Hanzo uncapped his gourd and sucked back a tall shot. McCree watched him.

“Aside from apologizin’, I wanted to make it clear that I don’t like you all that much—”

“Oh, as if that was not clear already.” Hanzo snarled.

McCree placed the cigar back into the corner of his mouth. “Y’know what? I’m done here. I don’t want to talk to a drunk.” He said and turned around to make his way back up the trail. “I am not looking forward to our mission!”

“Nor am I!” Hanzo shouted at his back.

Even with McCree and his jingle jangling spurs long gone, Hanzo knew he could not return to the peace he once had. He finished all the sake he had left in his gourd as an attempt to get back what was lost, but that did not work. It morphed his tensed emotions into the feeling of dread.

He stayed at the spot for the sunset and left once the moon was high in the sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to be constantly repeating this but... Thank you for taking the time to read this! It's been so long since I've written fan fiction (and shared it) and I had forgotten that seeing the numbers change on this page just gives me a huge injection of serotonin into my body. Anyhow, I hope you enjoyed this chapter! If you didn't, that's totally fine too! Have a good morning, evening, or night!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Not Beta read, so I apologize in advance for any mistakes.

Hanzo spent another early morning in the practice range. He stood in front of one of three targets that sat far across from him. With his stance open to the target, he drew back his bow, pulling the string to his ear. He aimed for the red dot in the centre and released. He hit his mark.

He shuffled over to step in front of the next target and pulled out another arrow from the quiver strapped on his back.

Standing in front of a target was nothing more than child’s play. It required no thought and his body moved on its own.

Practicing as he was reminded him of Hanamura and his home. On the castle’s grounds, hidden behind a built-up stone walkway, he had his own small practice range. The targets were made of bundles of hay and were held in place with wood. In the spring, cherry blossom petals from the trees in the courtyard would find their way onto the practice range’s grass. It was far from being up to date with recent technology, but it worked perfectly fine. Hanzo never complained about it.

Hanzo’s father would often watch him train from the walkway, standing in front of the opening and looking down on him in the range.

“ _You’re shaking._ ” His father often pointed out alongside other comments about his form. “ _Keep your arm straight._ ”

Hanzo would always listen to his word.

Genji trained with him often, catching most of their father’s flak. Being so young and sensitive, he would crumble under the criticism and run off in distress.

Hanzo always strived to do better and often took Genji’s criticisms to better his own skill. He would stay up late in the night, lit by distant light. He stood still in front of the hay targets, doing his best to not wobble and shake as he held his bow. As an arrow flew into one target, he shuffled in front of the other.

The sound of his name shook Hanzo out of his memory. He spun around on his heels to see Genji standing behind him, leaning against a post. His brother pushed off and made his way over.

“Have you picked up a bow in these recent years?” Hanzo found himself asking.

“No.” He said simply.

Hanzo hummed.

“why do you ask?”

“I was just thinking of the past.”

“Ah.” Genji paused, tapping his feet against the concrete flooring. “Well, I came down to see you before you leave.” 

From behind them, the usual crew of Brigitte, Reinhardt, and Lena, came walking into the range. Their voices echoed around the open space. They went into the weight room, leaving the brothers be.

“How kind of you.” Hanzo said. “But I do not leave for another two hours yet.”

“I am aware. I thought that I should tell you now though.”

“And is that all you have to say to me?”

“No. I am also here to wish you good luck.”

Hanzo dipped his head down. “Thanks.”

He then turned back to the targets and raised his bow again. Pulling an arrow out from the quiver, he drew the string back without his arm shaking. He released the arrow and it flew into the centre of the target, splitting the first arrow that he shot in half.

Genji made a spat noise. “Show off.”

Packing his things did not take long. His bow and arrows were placed into a case and in a duffle bag he threw in the technology Overwatch had provided and his casual clothing. He left his Gi and anything marked with an Overwatch logo behind. When he lifted his bag up, it was depressingly light. Once he arrived in Los Angeles, Hanzo thought, it would be nice if he got himself some new clothing. While wandering, he could not keep an extensive wardrobe. Clothes were constantly getting ripped and stained, ending up in the trash one way or another. Luckily the money he earned from his work was more than enough to allow Hanzo to replace clothing as he pleased. He could throw away Canali suit away without having to feel his heart wince.

The next time he has to throw something away, his heart could go even easier. Along with the digital copies of their mission overview, Winston sent some money along. “For preparation. It isn’t much, but it should be enough to cover any necessities such as: food, clothing, medical supplies, etc.” the overview had read and the money sent was more than enough. With what he was given, he could buy much more than a Canali suit. The only thing was that the money had to be shared between him and McCree.

Hanzo was not too bothered by that fact. He still had his own money that he could work with and he was sure that McCree had his own as well.

With his things packed, Hanzo left the room. If anyone were to go through it, they would notice that he left some of his possessions behind. For that reason, Hanzo had put himself in the position that he would have to return. His gourde was something that he could not leave just so that he could run away towards an unforeseen future. But then again, returning would mean the same.

Hanzo took his baggage to the launch pad where the OSS-7 Aurora aircraft was stationed. The launch pad was on another cliffside of the base, facing towards lonesome waters. The sun started to peak into the center of the sky and its beamed heat on the top of Hanzo’s dark hair. With the back of his hand, Hanzo wiped away a bead of sweat. 

Winston paced outside the aircraft, holding onto his clipboard in one hand and using the other to walk. His mouth moved as he read out the words on the paper quietly to himself. The monkey’s eyes were glued down until he heard Hanzo clear his throat.

“Oh! My apologies, I didn’t see you there.”

“I assumed.” Hanzo said flatly.

“Uh—.” Winston looked over Hanzo, noticing his baggage. “Looks like you have a light load there.”

Hanzo lifted his bags up. “I did not have much to pack.”

“Oh.”

Their conversation quickly halted. Winston’s lips pressed tight together and his eyes shifted away. Hanzo thought he was thinking of something else to say, but with no attempt to pick the conversation back up, he assumed no thought came to the monkey’s mind. To his own fault, though, Hanzo did not try to continue their chatter either.

From the open aircraft door, Lena poked her head out. “Oh, hello there.” She said. Her eyes also went towards Hanzo’s baggage. “You can just bring that in, put in one of the lockers.”

Hanzo nodded his head and stepped in.

The Aurora was the smaller aircraft out of the two Overwatch had. The Orca aircraft had an entertainment system, a lounge corner, and a basketball net. Meanwhile, the Aurora only had the bare necessities such as seating, equipment storage, and of course, the cockpit.

It only took six steps from the door for Hanzo to get to the lockers. On his way in, he pretended not to see McCree who was already sitting in one of the chairs scrolling through a tablet. As he stored his things away, he could feel Lena hovering behind him.

“Do you have everything you need?” Lena asked.

Hanzo rolled his eyes, not that she would see. “If I did not have everything, then I would still be packing, wouldn’t I?”

“I-I guess so.” She faltered, taking a step away.

From his chair, McCree muttered something under his breath.

“Okay! Everyone is here!” Winston piped up as he stepped into the aircraft. His body was a bit too big and felt out of place compared to the space. He kept his stance hunched over. “I would like to go over everything once more, just so that we are all clear.”

Hanzo walked over to the seats, taking one that left two chairs between him and McCree. Lena leaned against the curved entryway of the cockpit with her ankles crossed over. The three of them gave Winston their attention.

Winston laid out the plan.

It was Wednesday, ten AM. Agents Jesse McCree, Hanzo Shimada, and Lena “Tracer” Oxton, who acted as the designated pilot for the mission, left watchpoint Gibraltar. The flight went west with enough fuel and energy to go uninterrupted. The Aurora was stealth, protecting the agents from being picked up on any radar. With all things going well, the agents arrived in the national forest outside of Los Angeles within twenty-four hours at around 1 AM.

During the flight, it was expected of the agents Jesse McCree and Hanzo Shimada to prepare for their landing. Their preparation concluded of packing the additional supply from the ship such as first aid kits, concealable weapons, and non-perishable snacks. It was also expected for agents Jesse McCree and Hanzo Shimada to strategize for the upcoming mission. Agent Tracer reported that the two did not collaborate well and that they hardly spoke.

Before landing, agent Tracer scoped a clearing in the rolling hills of the national forest and a temperature scan deemed it free from civilians. Once secured, the next phase of the plan began

Agents Jesse McCree and Hanzo Shimada discreetly left the aircraft and the area as a whole. With the supplies in toll, the two headed towards the highway and made way for the city. As they walked, agent Tracer picked back up into the sky.

There was a terribly long walk ahead of them.

Surrounded by hills, the dark highway was quiet with only a few late-night drivers passing McCree and Hanzo as they walked along the side of the road. Since getting off the Aurora, not a muttered word had been said between them. Hanzo was fine with that. Their short sentences that they shared while trying to strategy was enough to get him into a bitter mood. On top of that, he could not sleep during the flight. The weight he carried on his back added to the weight of his tiredness.

A car zipped past them and the tires kicked dirt up into the air. McCree, closer to the road with his thumb up, let out a gruff sigh. “C’mon.” He grumbled to himself.

Hanzo ignored him. He was taking careful steps as he looked up at the sky. It was clear and full of stars. He could never get a view as pretty as the one he saw then back at the watchpoint, there was too much light pollution around. Seeing the heavenly bodies above pinched his heart. He missed this.

Approaching headlights lit the road and the backs of the agents. As the car came closer, McCree jutted his thumb out further. The car passed them.

It was a lost cause to even try, Hanzo thought. The people who drove by probably thought they were sketchy. Two men carrying bags in the dead of the night, walking along a highway that cut through a forest; the average person should be smarter than to pick up strangers such as them.

McCree waved his thumb frantically as another car approached quickly after the last. It started to slow down. Hanzo turned around, blinded by the headlights of a non-hovering rickety red truck.

He had forgotten that Americans were not the average person.

The truck pulled over and came to a stop. Hanzo and McCree stood still as the passenger seat window slowly rolled down, squeaking as it went. Behind the wheel and lit by an interior lamp sat an older man wearing a flannel and a damned cowboy hat. Beside him, Hanzo could _feel_ McCree’s energy pick up.

“Where you headed?” The man asked, his voice croaky.

McCree responded, “LA.”

The mad nodded towards the back of his truck. “Throw your stuff in the bed and get in.”

Hanzo hesitated as McCree swiftly went ahead and dropped his things into the bed of the truck. Winston had told them that they could hitchhike to the city as long as they kept cautious. He did not take McCree to be the type of fool to forget that sort of thing.

They walked to either side of the truck and hopped in. Hanzo felt lucky that the back had enough room so that he did not have to sit shoulder to shoulder with the cowboy. Once buckled in, the older man turned off the interior lamp and started to drive.

With every bump in the road, the truck rattled violently and the poorly taped window behind them whistled slightly. The leather seats were worn and had a smell that Hanzo could not exactly place. On the matted floor, scraps from fast food places laid. As he glanced around, there were more spots that were taped over such as holes in the seats, sides on the door, and even a strip on the steering wheel. Hanzo was convinced that tape was the only thing holding the truck together.

“So, let me guess, camping trip gone wrong?” The man driving asked over the whistling window.

McCree let out a laugh. “Somethin’ like that.”

“Camping trip gone terrible?”

As they talked, Hanzo kept a thumb between his waistband and a sheathed knife that he had hidden.

“My name is Thomas, and you fellas?”

“Joel.” McCree answered. “And my pal here is _Hugh_.”

Hanzo scowled to himself.

“Now let me ask you this; why the hell are you two walking in the middle of the night? Got no car or…?”

McCree took a moment to answer. “A friend bailed on giving us a ride back.”

“Must not be a good friend then.”

“Nope.”

As the man continued to ask questions and McCree answered with lies, Hanzo allowed himself to look out the window. In the dark he could just make out the shapes of the slopes and the trees that went by. He could not see the stars all that well anymore, but the moon was clear as it hung high. In the slight reflection in the window, he saw McCree’s eyes flicker over him before returning his attention to the driver.

He looked over his shoulder and at the cowboy, giving him his own once-over. There was not much to see in the dark other than his silhouette that was lowly illuminated by the dashboard lights coming from the front. He turned back to the window before McCree could catch him looking.

McCree and the man talked during the entire drive into the city and Hanzo only half listened. Most of his attention went towards the streets, lit up and full of life. They made their stop in Hollywood and a few blocks away from their hotel. They hopped out and grabbed their stuff from the back of the truck. McCree took a minute to dig through his bag and pulled out a few dollar bills, he gave them to the driver and tipped his hat.

“It ain’t much but thank you so very much.” He said sincerely.

Thomas tipped his hat back. “No problem, Joel. You two stay safe out there.”

They stood on the sidewalk and others walked around them as they waved the man off. The red truck disappeared down the street among hovering vehicles.

“You don’t have to be so intense all the time.” McCree changed into a harsh tone.

“What makes you think I am intense?” Hanzo turned to face him.

“You barely said a word during the drive, pinched up expression. It makes the both of us suspicious.”

He furrowed his eyebrows and pressed his lips together.

“Yeah, just like that. That pinched up expression.” The cowboy quipped.

Hanzo ignored his comment. “I am tired. We should head to the hotel now rather than just stand here.” He said sourly. He started to walk ahead.

McCree followed behind. The sound of his spurs was drowned out by nearby chatter and cars driving by. He reached into his pockets, but came out empty handed. The cowboy huffed. “Ran out of cigars.” He grumbled to himself.

The Hotel Winston booked them into was cheap. Hanzo could not complain too much of the hotel’s beige quality, he had been in worse. However, his view of the nicer hotel directly across the street bothered him. With one swift motion, Hanzo closed the curtains.

To be alone was like a breath of fresh air. The moment Hanzo walked through the door, he kicked off his shoes, slipped off his coat, and stripped of everything else before heading into the small washroom.

The shower was not amazing. For the first few minutes it sputtered out cold water, but it did not matter. Hanzo had a washroom all to himself. He could shower and not be forced to listen to the humming or whistling belonging to someone else in the communal showers. Once the hot water hit, he was in pure bliss. He stayed in there till the water ran back cold.

He left the shower with steam coming off of him. From his bag, he grabbed a pair of sweats and tidied up the mess he had made out of his stripped clothing. From his pair of discarded pants, he grabbed the knife that was hidden and brought it with him. He locked the door and placed a chair under the handle, turned off the lights, and went to bed. With his blade in hand, he slipped it under his pillow and fell asleep.

Hanzo dreamt of Hanamura. He shot at bundles of hay as cherry blossoms fell down onto the ground. In the distance, he could hear Genji laughing. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Really late update even though I don't have a planned schedule. Anyhow, chapter five is already in the words. Thank you for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No beta, as usual. Sorry for errors in advance.  
> *descriptions of violence warning*

Hanzo’s sleep was restless and filled with dreams of memories. He laid in bed on his stomach, clenching and releasing the handle of the knife he kept under his pillow. With the side of his face mushed on the side he laid on, he looked blankly ahead at the hotel’s beige curtains and the tiny crack of light that shined through. From the outside the window he could hear cars honking and all types of music blare as they passed by. On the other side of his hotel door, patrons were already closing the heavy doors and chattering as they walked down the halls.

He knew that he should get up, but his body was made of lead.

The most he could do was roll over in bed and reach over the ledge for his duffle bag. He managed to grab it by the strap and pulled it closer. From inside, he pulled out his tablet and turned it on. The bright light from the screen made him wince. 

Hanzo went through the mission details again and learned nothing new. He checked his inbox, but nothing waited for him there. He spent five minutes thoughtlessly scrolling through apps before tossing the tablet back into the bag. He laid back down in bed, staring at the ceiling.

Though he felt heavy, some of that weight had shed from him. To be off base made him feel as though he had tipped his toes into the waters of his old lifestyle. Not that his old lifestyle was any good, but the familiarity of it brought a sense of comfort. If he closed his eyes and thought hard enough, maybe he could forget the moment he is now. He could return to a time before taking part in Overwatch’s illegal shenanigans and before coming face to face with his brother. If he could, Hanzo would welcome that life back with open arms.

For years, he had lived that way. Never had to worry about others since all he had was himself. The jobs he took gave him a reason to get up in the morning, and because of these jobs, the only consequence he had was death. As mentioned before, his old lifestyle was not great. However, he never fought against it. It was the path that fate deemed for him to walk on, taking each step with shame. He killed his brother. He saw it only to be fair.

Then he saw Genji and his path split into another. Now he stood at the fork, seeing his brother stand ahead on the new path, trying to lure him down onto it. Hanzo took a few steps forward which has only led him to his new position,

He knew that he could still turn around and go back; he had not strayed too far just yet. But it was the loose promise he gave to his brother that kept him bound to follow the trail. In this moment in which Hanzo laid in bed, for the first time, he looked over his shoulder and saw what he had left behind.

There was a rapid knock on his door and Hanzo shot up from his bed. The knocking continued as he crossed the carpeted floor to peeked through the peephole in the door. McCree stood on the other side with his face close to the glass. Hanzo was taken back by the fact that he was not wearing his hat but rather swapped it out for aviator glasses.

Hanzo stepped away from the door, raking his hands through his hair. He considered grabbing a shirt, but McCree’s impatient knocking was something he could not listen to any longer. He pulled the chair that he placed under the handle and put it aside. Slowly, he opened the door just enough for him to stick his head out.

“What?” His voice came out scratchy. 

“We got stuff to do.” McCree said. “I’m hungry and I need to buy a pack of cigarettes. So, I was thinkin’ that 7-eleven should be our first stop.”

Hanzo could not see McCree’s eyes behind the mirror-like shades and was met with his own dreadful morning appearance in reflection. He could see that his hair flicked out in different directions from him running his hands through it.

He irked a brow. “Are you serious?”

The cowboy’s foot started to tap, sounding off the spur on his boot. “What do you mean?” He raised his voice. “Of course I’m bein’ serious!”

“I am going to be honest.” Hanzo grunted out. He did not want to deal with McCree so early. “I need time to get ready and I would rather not go into a 7-eleven so that you can feed your hungry nicotine addiction. You can do that yourself.”

His face pinched up. “Excuse me?”

“I am suggesting that we do what we need to prepare for tonight’s mission separately.” He clarified. “And before we leave for the club, we can make an attempt to agree on a stable plan.”

“How about this; I give you five minutes and then we go down to the 7-eleven together?”

“I personally like my suggestion.”

“Well, _I personally_ would prefer if you stopped being so difficult and be ready in five minutes before we head down to the 7-eleven.”

Hanzo pressed his lips together and thought of a rebuttal. Walking behind McCree, two girls who had come out of their own room looked at the two agents with questioning eyes. He had not realized how well the hotel halls carried their voices and to push the cowboy any further could lead to a louder argument.

He rolled his eyes. “Ten minutes.” And without giving McCree time to speak, he slammed the door.

* * *

Hanzo wished to never spend another day with McCree ever again.

They walked up and down the streets, passing stores as they went. Majority were high-end shops that Hanzo was used to going into. The ones where an employee will offer you refreshments like cucumber water or mints. Hanzo came to a stop in front of a store with a navy-blue suit in the window. 

He turned to walk to the doors of the store, but McCree stepped in front of him. “Where do you think you’re going?” He asked.

Hanzo nodded his head towards the entrance door. “Into the store.” He said flatly. “Obviously.”

“We aren’t goin’ in there. I’m in no mood to deal with prissy rich people. Besides, to go in there is just a waste of money.” The cowboy explained.

Hanzo took in a deep breath, straightening out his stance. “This is why I suggested that we do our things separately. My preparation includes going into a nice store to buy myself a nice suit. It is not a waste of money to me and I will use my own instead of what was given to us.” He explained back, very slowly as though the other man was a child.

He did not need to see McCree’s eyes that were hidden by his glasses to know that he struck some sort of cord. It was creasing lines on his forehead that gave it away.

Hanzo pushed. “So far, I have been _very_ compliant. I have let you drag me into a disgusting 7-eleven and ate something more than questionable from there. If I want to go into this store, I will.” His voice started to raise. “You do not have to come in with me, you don’t even have to wait outside for me—”

“Personally, I just think we should stick together is all—”

“No! This is not about wanting to stick together! This is about you watching over me like I’m some dog! A dog that is just rabid to get away! But I’m not a dog! I’m just a man who is just trying to do his duty!”

He opened his mouth to say more, but he saw the heads that were turned towards him as they passed. He looked away from them and at McCree with his lips pressed shut together.

McCree’s jaw tightened and he inhaled deeply. “Fine.” He let out his breath. “We can go into this store. Afterwards, we go into the one I choose.”

The compromise that they made was the obvious thing to do, but he did not think it would actually happen. One thing that he had learned about McCree (at least when it came to him) was that he was stubborn and envisioned things to always go his way. To even go into the store of his choosing, Hanzo felt as though he won something. He smirked at the thought as they walked into the store.

The whole time, the cowboy mumbled and muttered things under his breath. Hanzo did not care, he got to have a cup of cucumber water provided by the staff. He left the store with a suit for the night and even McCree came out with a tie.

McCree then dragged him into an underground thrift shop filled with clothes from three decades ago. It was the exact opposite of his store of choice and he took a moment to pout about it. McCree seemed to need to touch everything, rifle through the racks of shirts and piles of unfolded clothes that sat on shelving.

Nonetheless, Hanzo walked out with a bag full of t-shirts that were in desperate need of a wash and a pair of embroidered loose pants that were criminally low priced. He hoped that the pants were something that he would not have to throw away, but to be realistic, at some point he would have to.

They went to a few more stores after that with little discussion between them. They did not even speak to make plans for their infiltration of Voltaic Opulence. Perhaps McCree wanted to play by ear and follow the bare minimum of what Winston requested the mission to be; non-lethal and just go in and get out. Hanzo was fine with that, to a certain extent. He wanted to know if something went wrong, what agreed path would they take to escape? What would they do if they got separated? If questioned who they were, what is their story? Hanzo had his own ideas, but he would feel more organized if McCree shared his own thoughts.

McCree did not share those thoughts until that night.

They stood in the shadows between two buildings across the street from Voltaic Opulence. McCree had been burning through his box of cigarettes as they watched the people enter into the bar. He drained one down to the filter and flicked it onto the ground where a pile of them was building up next to Hanzo’s new dress shoe. Hanzo ignored him as he adjusted the black gloves he wore.

Hanzo wore a navy-blue suit he bought and stitched in secret compartments into the jacket himself. With the suit, he had his hair slick back with gel he got from a drugstore. Even in the cool night, what he wore made him sweat. That was just something he would have to deal with, and it was worth it too. When he looked in the mirror back in the hotel, he reminded himself of the business men his father talked to. Proud and powerful.

Besides that, he could not complain about the heat because he imagined it was worse for McCree. He wore a leather jacket that he had bought from the thrift store, a black shirt, and a pair of jeans that stretched tight across his thighs. He kept on his aviator glasses and left his hat behind once again. Hanzo expected him to ditch his boots as well, but the cowboy just took off his spurs. To top off his heavy looking outfit off, he wore gloves to conceal his metal hand.

McCree pulled out another cigarette and lit it with the flick of his lighter. “Listen, when we go in, we don’t drink nothin’.” He stated.

“I was not planning to do so.”

“Okay. Good. We can’t risk getting’ distracted.”

Hanzo waited for him to say something else but McCree just took a step away from the wall he had been leaning on and brought his cigarette to his lips. He finished it quickly and tossed it aside, hitting Hanzo’s shoe this time.

“Seriously?” Hanzo hissed.

“What?”

The nerve of that man, Hanzo thought. He looked down at the ground and could still see the lit end of the cigarette lay. With the bottom of his shoe, he put it out and grind it into the ground. He thought of McCree’s face as he did so. 

“Hanzo?”

He shook out of his thoughts and looked back up at the cowboy with a frown. 

“Did you zone out or something’?” McCree asked, almost humorously. 

“No.” he spat out.

“Okay, good. Let’s go in and get this job over with.”

Getting in was no problem. The bodyguard, who was built (or as McCree described him as “brick shit-house”), looked the two agents up and down with suspicion. He opened his mouth to say something, but the cowboy was quick to pull out a wad of cash from his pocket, causing the body guard’s mouth to close. After thumbing through and counting what was given, he nodded his head towards the entrance of the bar and let them in.

They walked into a hallway with another guard standing by the door. As they approached, he opened it for them and revealed the dimly purple-lit bar behind it. From the inside, an airy voice sang along with notes on the piano. It lured them in.

At the center back of the bar, a woman stood on stage and was highlighted by the only white light they could find. The sequins on her white dress twinkled. Next to her, a man sat at a white piano and wore a white suit.

Hanzo looked around at the people who sat at the tables. Nearly all of them wore white which was tinted purple by the light. Those who sat and worked at the bar were the same. Clearly there was a dress code, one that he and McCree did not get the memo of. 

He pinched the bridge of his nose and tilted his head down, letting out a sigh. They stuck out like a sore thumb and McCree knew it too. Beside him, he habitually reached for his box of cigarettes only to quickly draw his hand back.

“Crap.” McCree said. He shook his head and spoke to himself, “No, no, this is fine.”

Hanzo did not know whether or not to respond.

“This is fine.” McCree said again. He turned his head towards Hanzo. “Let’s just head to the bar, scope things out from there.”

So, they went to the bar and snagged two stools next to each other. There were two young men working behind the bar, moving quickly to make drinks and hand them back to the many patrons that waited for them.

“I feel as though it would be odd for us to sit at the bar and not order anything.” Hanzo said. 

“Don’t you remember what I said already?” McCree responded condescendingly.

Hanzo titled his chin up at him. “Of course, I remember what you said. It was not hard to remember.” He nodded towards one of the bartenders. “If I order something, I could strike up a conversation with the man.”

“And you wont drink what you get? Yeah right.”

His brows furrowed into his eyes. “Do you think of me as some alcoholic?”

McCree put his hands up and shook his head. “Of course not, I’m jus’ sayin’.”

Hanzo said nothing more and gave the cowboy a glare before turning to look at one of the bartenders. He raised two fingers up, flagging one of the men down.

He walked over, brushing his bionic arms onto his apron as he did, and leaned against the bar counter top. He was younger than most people in the bar. Aside from his obvious youthful look, the way he carried himself was full of overzealous confidence. Because of that, it reminded Hanzo of Genji at that age. A time when he was an overconfident idiot who blabbed to anyone who might not even be listening.

“What can I help you with, sir?” The bartender flashed a grin at him.

“Well,” Hanzo had to think for a moment. “I was just wondering what your specials were.”

“Tonight, our special is our Purple Cords. Think blue raspberry, but it’s purple, mostly lemon juice, and vodka.” He waves his hands in the air, as if presenting an image to the agent.

Hanzo scrunched his nose.

“It’s good though, trust me. More on the sweet side, but still.”

“I do have a sweet tooth.” Hanzo admitted. “I’ll try it.”

“Nice, nice.” The bartender then looked at McCree. “And anything for you, sir?”

The cowboy shook his head.

“And may I ask one more thing, sir?”

He shrugged. “Shoot.”

“Why are you wearing sunglasses inside?”

Hanzo stifled out a laugh and covered his mouth to hide his growing smirk as McCree sat quietly, very unamused. Or perhaps he was questioning himself that, Hanzo could not tell. McCree’s eyes added a lot of expression, to hide them away seemed to strip him of some emotion.

With no response, the bartender was quick to backtrack. “Sorry, sorry. It’s honestly not that weird to wear sunglasses in here. I mean, I still think it’s weird, but—but a lot of people who come in here do the same.”

McCree raised a brow that peaked over the glasses rim. “Why’s that?”

“Well,” he lowered his voice and leaned in closer to McCree. “People tend to do _business_ here. Glasses hide themselves a bit if you know what I mean. Now, I’ve noticed that you two are new around here, so are you here for _business_?”

In a way, it was like hunting. You spot a target and try to get close. when the opportunity presents itself, you shoot.

“Yes.” Hanzo nodded. “Yes, we are.”

The bartender grinned. “Great! Well I’m sorry if I’ve taken too much of your time, I’ll make you that drink now!”

He turned to the shelving of bottles behind him. With his back towards the agents, the two exchanged glances with each other. They both knew that even with this little piece of information, it still gave them some sort of a lead. It did not take long to get this information either, so who knew how quick it would take for them to find out what this _business_ truly was.

Sooner than expected, the bartender turned back around with the drink in his hand. He placed it down onto the counter in front of Hanzo and dropped a metal straw into the glass.

Hanzo looked down at it, trying to spot any fizzing in the water. It could not have been tampered with.

“C’mon, try it.” the bartender urged.

He could feel McCree’s eyes burn into his side, but honestly, he did not care. He took the class in hand. One sip could not hurt.

As he raised the straw up to his lips, A loud bumbling mess of words tumbled his way. A woman who slurred her words while already trying to order a drink crashed into Hanzo’s back as she shoved her way to the bar. Her arm managed to get under his elbow and make it fly up, spilling the drink into Hanzo’s eyes.

It burned.

Hanzo quickly stood up and used his sleeves to rub at his eyes. It did not help at all. If anything, his sleeves were damp too, so he most likely contaminated his eyes more.

“Crap.” McCree said. He reached out to touch Hanzo’s shoulder, but Hanzo stepped away from his touch. He said something else, but the woman’s loud apologies deafened his words. 

“I-I’ll just—I’ll be right back.” Hanzo muttered out and turned away. His vision was stinging tears, but he could just make out the bright image of the washroom sign near the stage. “I’ll be right back.”

“Wait, Hanzo.” McCree called out to him as he started to walk away. “Do you want me to come with you?”

“No!” He yelled back behind him.

People stood near the stage and the archway of the hallway that lead to the washroom, hiding hushed conversations by the sound of the woman’s song and loud piano. Hanzo tried to eavesdrop as he walked by, but due to his poor vision he knocked into a guy’s side, disrupting the conversations around them.

“Watch it!’ the guy yelled

Hanzo mumbled out an apology as he stumbled down the washroom hall. He pushed through the door and made his way to the sink. Though he couldn’t properly see it with the tears building up in his eyes, he could tell that the washroom was rundown compared to the rest of the bar. The white light inside flickered.

He turned on the tap of the sink and leaned against the counter edge. With his teeth, he tore off his gloves and dropped them aside before cupping his hands under the running water.

Behind him, the door creaked open.

Hanzo paused for a second, keeping his head down into the bowl of the sink with water in hand. He waited for whoever walked in to either get in the stalls or get out, but he could hear the person’s footsteps approach him. 

Releasing the cupped water, he slowly moved to reach one of the stitched in pockets inside his jacket. As he inched towards the blade that was hidden inside, the steps behind him approached quickly and suddenly his body was pinned against the counter top with his arm being crushed against the ledge.

He thrashed, kicking the person in the knee behind him. The person’s reaction was to get a grip of his hair and slam his forehead into the mirror in front of him, cracking the glass.

Hanzo let out a grunt as his ears rang out.

“Shhhh, this will be quick.” The distorted voice belonged to a man.

On the side of his neck, there was a quick pinch followed by a tingling sensation.

He tried to move again only to have his hair tugged up and his forehead slammed into the mirror again. Shards broke through skin, but he did not care. He trashed and kicked again, and again. He tried to get out of the man’s hold until his limbs went limp.

At some point, Hanzo was released and moved onto the cold moldy tile in the washroom. As the light flickered and the room spun, he could make out the silhouette of a cowboy hat.

“McCree?” His voice came out as a breath.

A gloved hand came in front of Hanzo’s face and pressed the leather palm over his mouth. He was hushed by the man as his eyes closed. 

* * *

An outrageous heat drenched his skin and he could see light through his eyelids. Under the sound of his ringing ears, he could hear something whistling and violent rattling. It made his head pound.

Hanzo groggily opened his eyes and was met with McCree’s face close up to his own. The cowboy was far from a kind sight. Blood ran from his nose and dried in lines that went down his parted lips and chin, and the skin under his left eye swelled. Being so close, Hanzo could smell the sweat off his skin and cigarettes in his breath. He even picked up the scent of iron from his blood.

He could feel his breathing against his own. At least he was alive, Hanzo thought.

His eyes strained as he tried to look at their surroundings. They were laying across the back seat of an old truck and Hanzo had his back towards the front seats. Trying his best to look out one of the windows, he saw a bright blue sky.

He had been stripped from his suit jacket and shoes, left to lay in his white shirt that was damp with sweat and stained. At least he still had pants, but he could not feel the weight of his concealed that was once inside. McCree next to him had been stripped from his leather jacket and his glasses had gone missing as well. Both of them had been bound with tape wrapped around their ankles, knees, and with their arms pinned behind their back by the wrist.

As Hanzo evaluated the situation, the ringing in his ears began to fade away and he could hear a song play. It was some country song that Hanzo did not know, but the person driving sang along. The truck went over someone on the road, causing him to bump into McCree.

A quiet groan came past McCree’s mouth as he stirred awake. “Are we listening to Carrie Underwood?” words came out slurred, still under the influence of the drug he was given. His eyelids fluttered open and then widened with shock. “Holy shit.”

“Be quiet.” Hanzo hushed.

“You look like a corpse that’s come alive.” He dropped into a low whisper. “Spooked me.”

McCree tried to move, brushing his knee against Hanzo’s. He could not slink away for if he tried, he would fall off the edge of the seat. He had to endure it and allow for his spine to curl.

“Guy took my arm.” McCree said, still shifting around. “But I think I can get out of this bind.”

“How so?”

“Well, it’s hot as hell in here. Tape has gone loose on me.”

Behind his back, Hanzo shifted his arms slightly. The sweat that beaded on his skin slipped through the openings on the tape, loosening the adhesive.

“You know, we wouldn’t be in this situation if it weren’t for you.” McCree pipped up.

Hanzo gritted his teeth. “I am not having this conversation right now.”

“Hey, at least it could be worse.” He said as the two of them continued to shift around. “Could be dead.”

Pain throbbed in Hanzo’s head, forcing him to pause and hiss.

“But this will be easy to get out of. I’ve been in worse.” McCree continued on.

“Shut up, McCree.”

He did not. “I also want to ask; how did you even get taken down in the first place? I imagined you to be better than that—”

The driver’s singing stopped and the volume was put on mute.

Hanzo froze and heard McCree curse under his breath.

“Jesse McCree. Awake already? Is that friend of yours awake too?”

McCree looked up and at the rear view that had been tilted down at him. He locked eyes with the man driving the truck. Thomas, the older man who had driven them into the city. With one hand on the wheel, he used the other to tip the brim of his cowboy hat down.

“Sleep well?” Thomas asked.

“Like a baby.”

“Good, good. Now listen. Imagine how I felt when I saw Jesse McCree walking alongside the road in the middle of the night. I’m a poor man, and you have a bounty that can change that.” He started his monolog. “I would have taken you that night, but you had that fella with you.”

Hanzo kept still. The adhesive of the tape around his wrist was close to falling completely loose One easy move was all it would take to get it off, but he was not sure if it was safe.

“So,” Thomas continued. “I thought, ‘yeah I’ll just follow the guy’ but you still had this fella with you. Then it hit me! If he’s with you, then he must be important too, right?”

There was a click followed by the sound of a squeak. McCree watched over Hanzo’s shoulder as Thomas reached into the glovebox and pulled out a revolver. He kept his body forward and awkwardly put his arm back to aim the gun at McCree. 

“Y’know. It’s not safe to drive like that.” McCree quipped.

Hanzo’s eyes strained to look up at the gun that hovered shakily over him. It would be easy for him to disarm the man, but there was a risk. Despite his sour feelings towards him, Hanzo did not want McCree to get shot.

“By the way, do you work with anyone?”

“You’re in no position to be asking me questions.”

“Don’t blame a man for being curious.”

A bump in the road made them all jolt.

McCree probed on. “But do you work for Talon? Maybe?”

Thomas hummed. “I guess I’ll answer you. Since you’ll be dead soon. No. I do not work for Talon. I am a free man, but I do have loose connections elsewhere.”

Hanzo watched as Thomas’ thumb curled against the trigger. “Anyway. I’m done talkin’.”

Another bump threw off his aim and Hanzo took his chance to slip free. Twisting around, he grabbed onto Thomas’ arm and yanked it down.

Thomas let out a yelp and pulled the trigger, shooting through the mats on the truck floor. The truck swerved, making Hanzo fall off the seat and onto the dirty mats. He kept his hold tight around Thomas’ arm, forcing it to stay pointed down.

McCree was quick to free himself too. Wobbling, he managed to sit up onto his knees and he leaned over towards the back side of the driver seat. With his one arm, the cowboy took the man into a chokehold.

The truck then came to a forceful stop as Thomas slammed onto the brakes, making them all lurch forwards and hit into whatever was in front of them. In Hanzo’s case, he hit the bottom of the car seats and Thomas’ arm slammed hard into the armrest. He dropped the gun and Hanzo quickly picked it up.

McCree kept his arm around Thomas’s neck and listened to the choked pleading that he could make out. From the corner of his vision, he saw Hanzo raise the gun and aim at the man’s head. His finger held onto the finger and his eyes were narrowed with concentration.

Thomas thrashed around in his seat and slammed his leg down and floored the gas pedal. The truck lurched forward, throwing both agents off their balance. McCree and Hanzo flew back towards the back seats.

“You’re crazy!” McCree yelled at the man.

Despite how fast they were going, they did not get too far.

The truck crashed into something that neither of the three men had seen coming. Glass from the windshield shattered and flew down onto the men. The airbags quickly went off, knocking Thomas into an assumed state of unconsciousness, and then started to deflate. As the bags shrank, they released chemical smoke and filled the cabin.

Hanzo was put into a daze, masked over by the hard throbbing in his head. Beside him, McCree was quick to scramble up to regain his balance. He turned to open the side door and nearly toppled over and fell out due to his bound legs.

“Hanzo, c’mon.” McCree growled from the outside, leaning back in to tug at his shirt.

He weakly swatted his hand away and started to crawl out from the truck. McCree stood by to help him, but Hanzo did not take what he offered. Behind them, smoke escaped out through the open door.

The entire front of the truck was smashed into an orange mountain that casted a shadow over them. The two agents sat down, taking their time to breath and unwrap the tap that was around them. Hanzo balled it up and threw it aside and McCree did the same. 

“I meant what I said earlier.” The cowboy spoke up.

“ _Do not_ put me at fault for all of this.”

“No, not that. I mean, you look like a corpse.” He waved his hand over his face. “Got blood all over.”

Hanzo took the back of his hand and rubbed it against his cheek. He pulled it back and looked down onto his skin which was coloured red.

“Could you not feel it?” McCree asked.

“No.” He muttered out. The pain he felt fell to no comparison to the blood on his face. “I did not.”

McCree turned away and muttered as well. “Okay.”

They fell into an awkward silence and Hanzo was left to look around.

He was quick to realize that they were in the middle of nowhere. It was as though he had been dropped into the scene of an old western movie. The landscape was made up of orange dirt mixed in with sand, block-shaped mountains, dry desert plants and tall cactus, and as the wind blew a tumbleweed passed by.

Thomas had driven off road, going straight through the wilderness. The truck left behind a trail of tracks and kicked up dust that still hung in the air.

It hit him. Hanzo was in the middle of nowhere, in America. He had been in terrible situations before. Ones where he had been beaten to a pulp and threatened, tied and taken to a second location. Clearly, he made it out alive each time. He was in his own element, in his own country with his own abundance of resources. He did not have that here. He did not even have shoes on.

The thoughts kept coming and his head started to spin, making his throbbing ache worse. Hanzo closed his eyes and started to breathe deeply. Everything was okay, he repeated to himself. This is far from the worst outcome he could experience. It is not death.

“You good?” McCree questioned. He stood up from the ground, using his one hand to brush off the dust.

Hanzo responded so simply. “No.”

“Okay, well, I’m gonna go through the truck, see if I can find my arm and maybe cigarettes if I’m Lucky—”

“Just,” He shook his head. His hands started to reach up and run through his hair. “shut up.”

For the first time, McCree did what Hanzo told him to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be honest, this story spawned from a dream that then got translated through drunken writing. Going back and editing, I realized that a lot of my words were incoherent, chapter four being the most prominent of that trait. So, this chapter went through some heavy revisions and still may be a little incoherent. Oops, it is what it is though. Anyhow, thank you for still reading. And to those leaving comments, I see you (and I mean that in a non-threatening way), and I appreciate you.  
> I'm calling this the end of 'part one' so I won't be posting anymore chapters until I have some finished in advance. Thanks once again!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After being drugged and crashing in the middle of nowhere, Hanzo and McCree need to find a way to get in contact with Overwatch or make their way back to Los Angeles. Hanzo's wish to never spend another day with the cowboy again unfortunately does not come true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Not fully edited so I apologize for any mistakes in advance

Hanzo sat in the shadow that the orange mountain casted over, staring into the horizon. There was no way to tell, but he guessed it had been an hour since the crash. Within that time, three train horns sounded off faintly in the distance.

It hurt to think with the massive migraine that overcame him and moving felt like too much to do. So, he stayed still and allowed himself to be a burden. Close by, McCree rummaged through the wreckage. He found his arm along with their shoes in the bed of the truck. Other than the gun that Thomas carried, none of their own weapons were found.

“I think the bastard pawned our shit off.” McCree grumbled. He found a small crumpled paper off the floor and read it out. “Yeah. He totally did. Only got three hundred from it all.”

Hanzo blinked slowly at him.

“At least he didn’t pawn off my arm.”

He turned away.

Obviously, they had been drugged. McCree found a vial earlier but the label on it was rubbed off. Whatever it was, it still hung in their systems. For Hanzo, it made his head throb and spin, and McCree just slurred, wobbled, and talked way too much.

“I’m just glad that I didn’t have my peacekeeper on me.” The cowboy said. “Would hate to have it in some disgustin’ pawn shop.”

Hanzo rested his head against his knees. Blood still covered his face in patchy spots. He used his white shirt to get most of it off before tossing it to the side, leaving his chest bare.

“And don’t think that I went in unprepared. I had one of those tiny guns on my waistband, some knives too.”

Hanzo would tell him to shut up for the fifth time, but it was pointless to do so. McCree could only stay quiet for five minutes before piping back up. At least he talked more to himself and did not expect to get any response.

Part of Hanzo expected for Thomas to speak up from inside the truck, but it was silly for him to even think that. He had seen him through the shattered glass and that was enough for him to know that the man would never move again. He felt no sorrow for it.

As McCree continued to go through the truck, he started to pull supplies that they could use to the side. A large milk jug of water that was only a quarter empty, a flashlight, a duffle bag with candy bars inside, hunting knives, and the revolver.

“And this!” McCree waved a packet of cigarettes in the air with one hand and a flask in the other. He tossed the flask onto the ground with the collection of things and opened the packet. From the box, he plucked a cigarette out and placed it between his lips. He started to pat himself down in search for a lighter, but stopped. “You gotta be kindin’ me.”

“What?” Hanzo muttered into the skin of his knees.

“I don’t have anything to light this with.” He said before turning to dive back into the truck.

It took another hour for McCree’s erratic behaviour to calm down, giving Hanzo only an inch of peace. The sun beginning to lower, turning the air cold. Shivers went down Hanzo’s back and he looked over to where he discarded his shirt. It looked like a used rag, and at that point it practically was, but he had no other option. His arm reached out towards the shirt.

Then, he was pelted at the chest by a ball of fabric. He looked down to see the navy-blue suit jacket. Looking back up, McCree stood in front of him. His body blocked the sight of the sun and the light that came from behind him highlighted his edges. 

On top of his head was a cowboy hat. It was not his own. Hanzo questioned the morality for a moment, to wear something taken off a dead man, before dismissing the thought. Other than the hat, he had his thrifted leather jacket back on, hanging loosely off his shoulders.

“This was tucked under the seats.” McCree explained.

Hanzo nodded as a way to say thanks and slipped on the jacket. His chest was still exposed and even with the few buttons done up, he could still feel the cool breeze on his skin through the gaps. But it was better than nothing.

“Now what?” He asked.

The cowboy shrugged. “Hop a train. There must be some tracks nearby if we can hear the trains. That way we can get to a town and make a phone call to get picked up.”

After sitting on the ground for hours that day with a clear view of the horizon ahead of him, all flat ground surrounded by desert mountains, Hanzo had not seen a train. “You are suggesting that we walk aimlessly to find these tracks?”

McCree shook his head. “Not suggestin’. We got to.”

Hanzo opened his mouth to argue, but quickly pressed his lips back together. Walking really was their only option. It would be impossible to drive the truck again, and sitting around would not get them anywhere. He bowed his head.

“And are you suggesting that we walk tonight?”

“Yup.”

He could argue that. “No. Absolutely not.” At least they could camp out at the truck to regain some lost energy. The Cowboy _had to_ have some sense of that.

They walked toward where the sun had fallen and Hanzo ached with each step. With the moon rising and the temperature lower, the sweat on his back stuck to the silk lining of the suit jacket. He held onto the flashlight and beside him, McCree carried the duffle bag.

Hanzo flexed his grip on the shaft of the flashlight. They had been walking for an what felt like days and had yet to come across train tracks. Every now and then though, the two agents heard the blow of a horn that started to sound less and less distant. McCree would break the silence to say that surely, they were getting closer. In response, Hanzo always grunted.

He did not understand how McCree was managing so well. The cowboy had kept his leather jacket on the entire time and his heavy boots. The pain they had gone through together had little to no effect on him either. Perhaps Hanzo just got the worst of it. His head got smashed into a mirror after all. But still, McCree’s eye was swollen and he had his own blood that he had to wipe away.

He wanted to ask about his side of the story, but he lacked the energy to do so.

A loud horn and the sound of chugging machinery disrupted Hanzo’s thoughts and he quickly lifted the flashlight so that it pointed further ahead. Coming from behind a mountain, a train appeared moving through the dim light that projected off the carts. It was still far away, twenty minutes worth of walking at least.

There was no way that they could make it to that train in time, so Hanzo did not bother to waste his energy and continued to walk. McCree, on the other hand, picked up his pace.

“C’mon. This is it!” He said, already jogging ahead.

Hanzo took quicker steps. “Impossible. We cannot make it!” He said but his voice must have not carried well enough.

McCree continued on and Hanzo lagged behind. The light from the flashlight violently shook as Hanzo tried to run. The dress shoes he wore made it more difficult and caused his pain to throb with each time his feet struck the earth. From deep inside he pushed out his last grain of energy.

It all felt like a waste.

There was no way that they could make it to that train. Even if they did, Hanzo would only be dead weight and better left behind. Perhaps McCree would actually do that; leave without him. Though it was not the right time to think about it, the scene intruded his mind anyway.

McCree standing at the back of the train, taking the dead man’s hat off his head and waving it goodbye. As the train takes him further and further into the distance, the cowboy would shout, “So long, sucker!” or something along those lines.

Loud panting came out of him as his body forcefully slowed down. McCree had stopped his pace as well. The cowboy hunched over, breathing deeply to catch his breath.

They did it. The train still moved in front of them.

“These things go on forever!” McCree exclaimed over the loud sound of the passing carts.

The carts were carrying cargo with smooth crate sides and open tops. Hanzo watched them pass and noticed that there was nothing for them to grab onto or even stand on. His head started to spin and his vision became spotted. _Waste_ , it was all a waste. 

The cowboy started up again. “Now just gotta wait for the caboose. Then, I’ll jump on first and help you up since you’re clearly not doin’ so great.”

Another scene popped into Hanzo’s head. Him reaching out for McCree’s hand only for him to not reach back. The dead man’s hat being waved to the echoed voice of, “So long, sucker!” He would be left for dead.

“No. I do not need your help.” Hanzo said over panting breaths. It was hard to hear his own voice over the sound.

McCree scoffed, “Yeah, Okay then.”

Peering through the darkness, the last few carts of the train rounded the mountain and headed their way. Hanzo watched as it approached and did his best to compose himself. He stood as straight as he could, but his own body fought against him by giving him blinking vision along with an uncontrollable shake. 

The grip on the flashlight tightened, then released. Tightening, releasing. He matched his breathing to the rhythm. Tightening. Releasing.

Over hanging lights on the train illuminated the caboose and the railing that they would grab onto. As it got close, McCree started to follow the train with a run. His gate was not as great as it had been before, he was slower and grunted as he went.

Hanzo took that as his que to run too. He lagged behind more than he did before and the carts blazed by him in the corner of his vision. It was an impossible feat to be done, he thought.

“ _You’re shaking_.” His father told him that often. During training and out of it, he would point it out. When Hanzo was no older than seven when he had cried over his mother. Usually his father was a place that did not provide comfort, but he could not help but to turn to him for at least something. All he got was his words. “ _Men of the clan do not tremble. We carry the spirits of dragons within us, and for them we must be strong_.”

He could feel them dwell underneath his skin. “ _You’re shaking_.” They said from the depths of his mind. Perhaps even from his soul.

Beside him, the front of the red caboose raced right behind. His heart pounded harder and he lifted his legs up more. As though it had been forced into him, a new burst of energy rushed over his body. He ran faster and the caboose had just gone a little further ahead. The railing was within his reach. He jumped.

McCree was still running on his own as the end of the train passed him. The sound of his name caught the cowboy’s attention and he looked up to see the red caboose go by. Surprisingly, Hanzo stood on the platform with his body leaned against the railing. It almost made him stop in his tracks. He doubted that Hanzo could even make the last leg of their run let alone make it onto the train first.

The cowboy swore there was a smirk on Hanzo’s face as he looked down onto him from the cart. Wordlessly, Hanzo reached his arm out. He reached back and gripped onto his forearm and the fabric of his jacket.

McCree made his jump onto the edge of the platform and used his open hand to grab onto the railing. As he stood on the moving train, wind ripped past him and tore the hat he wore off his head. It hurt inside for him to turn around and watch it disappear in the distance, but he knew that it was not his to begin with.

Perhaps it was for the best for it to be blown away. It would be left behind with everything else that had happened, as it should be.

As McCree swung one leg over the rail, Hanzo let go of his hand and wiped off the sweat on his pants. He leaned himself against the metal siding of the cart and slowly slid his way down to sit and the cowboy followed suit. The door of the caboose marked the distance between the two agents as they looked into the dark, both trying to catch their breaths.

“Do not tell me that we are going to jump off this train tonight.” Hanzo rasped out. In his hands he continued to flex his grip on the flashlight. “Because I would rather ride off a cliff than do that.”

McCree shook his head and wordlessly pulled the duffle bag off his back. the light that hung above them on the cart was enough for him to see everything inside. He pulled out the jug of water and before he zipped it back closed, Hanzo tossed the flashlight inside.

To be polite, McCree handed Hanzo the jug of water first and eagerly he took it. Twisting off the cap, Hanzo tried not to drain the entire thing before handing it back.

“I need to sleep.” Hanzo announced and wiped leftover water off his chin.

The cowboy huffed as he pulled the jug away from his lips. He shrugged. “Guess I’ll just take watch then.”

Nothing else was said between them as Hanzo shifted slightly to the side and into the corner of the railing and the caboose wall. The wind was loud in his ears, but in that moment, it was no different than white noise. The dragons had given him a drop of their power to keep him moving, and now what he needed to do was give it back by falling asleep.

During the time he was under, his subconscious had nothing to show him in the form of a dream. For that, he was grateful.

* * *

As Hanzo slept, McCree went through the duffle bag once more and pulled out the looted cigarette box along with a matchbox that he had found before they left the scene. He placed a cigarette between his lips, took a match, and struck it aflame.

Cigarettes fail in comparison to cigars, but nicotine is nicotine, and to have any was nice. Sitting there, McCree could easily burn through the entire box as he looked out into the vast desert. Not that there was much to even see, but when he tilted his head up, there were stars.

He thought back to when they were hiking into Los Angeles. Between the moments when McCree waved his thumb out towards the road, he caught a glimpse of what was beside him. Hanzo took slow and steady steps as he looked up at the sky. He had eyes of a child, round and full of wonder. There was a touch of innocence to him, even though the two should never correlate.

Hanzo is a murderer. But, so was he.

To hate the archer for that would make him a hypocrite. He could still hate him for other reasons, like the fact that Hanzo had killed his brother in every sense but literal. But that incident was somehow forgiven and it was not McCree’s place to interject himself into that situation, even though he had been a part of the aftermath.

McCree spent years alongside Genji while working in Blackwatch. They were not exactly friends, just friendly. As friendly as either of them could get. Genji hardly spoke and McCree had a temper. Something they had in common was that they were both fueled by the anger that came from their youth.

“Do you have any siblings?” Genji once asked. They were both in the medbay after coming back from a mission. He laid in the bed, hooked up to wires that attached to his head and the ports where his prosthetics were usually attached to.

McCree was surprised that he spoke first. Usually it was the other way around. “Nope.” He laid in a bed next to Genji’s. He had gotten shot on the mission and his thigh was wrapped up in bandages.

“You are lucky.” Genji said. He looked down at himself. “Mine is the worst.”

So, that was how McCree always imagined Hanzo to be. The worst. Someone who lurks in the shadows, sharp eyes always on the hunt for something, attacks weak prey. Vile, brutal, snobbish and arrogant. Perhaps Hanzo was all those things once.

The person McCree met was a shell. Hanzo’s eyes were glazed over and dressed with dark circles. He walked with his shoulders high but allowed them to fall when no one was near. Polite to others, seemingly easy to push over. Only ever piped up when pushed over. 

Maybe he just did not want to start any fights, to be civil, McCree wondered. But even so, that made Hanzo out to be pathetic compared to what he had heard from Genji’s rare stories.

He was not the man from Genji’s stories. The man from the stories would have never reached out his hand to help him on the train.

McCree let out a sigh made of smoke. He already made it down to the filter. Tilting his head to the side, he saw that Hanzo was still asleep. His lip pouted out like an upset child but his eyebrows were smoothed out from any stress or anger.

He could hate him for being so unsure of Overwatch. It was clear that Hanzo did not want to stay and bets were already made for how long he was going to last. But to hate him for that would make him a hypocrite.

With the cigarette between his fingers, McCree looked away from Hanzo and at the dark moving ground beyond the rail he leaned against. He slipped his hand between the bars and dropped it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, it has been awhile. To be honest, I have been going through a writing slum with this project and have been busy with others such as another fic idea and my actual novel. I've also been going through a different slum, just plain depression. Anyhow, thank you for reading, as always. And thank you for waiting (if this is something that you've been waiting for).   
> Another thing, another piece of honesty, this chapter and the next are pretty rough, so thank you for bearing through it.


	6. Chapter 6

The sound of the train woke Hanzo up. His eyes opened slowly to see a pink horizon and the sun slowly creeping up. The pain he had faded, a blessing the dragons gave him. A slight ache could be felt behind his eyes, but that was more than manageable.

He raised his arms above his head and stretched, letting out a yawn as he did. Rotating his neck, shifting his back, he made his bones crack. Afterwards, he reached down to the duffle bag of supplies and pulled out the jug of water.

McCree had fallen asleep while on watch, leaning into the corner of the railing and caboose wall. In his hand he held onto the revolver with the barrel pointed out towards the open.

Hanzo frowned at the sight of him. With the edge of his foot, he knocked it into the side of McCree’s boot. “You had one job.” He muttered. 

Something quietly passed through McCree’s lips and his head tipped to the side. As if he was trying to retaliate, he knocked his boot back. 

“Sorry.” The cowboy slurred out.

Not knowing what to say, Hanzo let out another sigh and rolled his eyes. He twisted open the jug and took a sip. At some point, the water had gotten dangerously close to the bottom. At least he knew it was not on him to blame. He twisted it back closed and put it back into the bag.

McCree spoke up again. “How long you’ve been awake?”

“Not more than a minute. And may I ask how long you have been asleep?”

“Mmm.” He hummed and one eye popped open. “Last I checked, stars were still up.”

Hanzo hummed too in his own thought.

“In my defence, I was beat, drugged, carried around in a bucket called a truck, walked for what felt like miles, only to jump on a train afterwards, and then it was expected of me to just _magically_ stay up and watch all night.”

“And during the time you were not on watch, we could have easily been attacked.”

“Attacked by who? The dead guy we left in the truck?”

“I don’t know! By someone! I would like to stay safe while we go on this plotless adventure!” Hanzo’s voice raised, hoarse from sleep. “Do you not wish for the same?”

“This is not a plotless adventure. We’re on the hunt to find a phone so that we can get picked up.”

“If you do not mind me asking—”

“Oh, I mind.” McCree interrupted.

He huffed. “When we get this phone, who exactly are we going to call?”

“Overwatch? Obviously.”

“Like a public phone number?”

“Yeah. Obviously.”

“I would imagine that the number would not even work, considering the fact that Overwatch is now an illegal organization that originally disbanded years ago.”

McCree opened both his eyes and blinked at Hanzo. He opened his mouth, but quickly closed it afterwards.

Hanzo continued, “You must at least know someone’s number, yes?”

He went quiet and his lips pressed tight together. “Do you know Genji’s number?” He asked.

“Do you truly believe _he_ carries a phone around?”

More silence from the cowboy. Hanzo let out a groan.

“How about—consider this—I sleep on it and you just don’t worry about it for now.” McCree tossed the gun into Hanzo’s lap before closing his eyes. “I shall go back to my slumber as if you’ve never interrupted it.” He said royally as he shifted into a comfortable position.

So, Hanzo allowed McCree to rest and enjoyed the ride as best as he could. The cowboy was right in the sense that the chances of them getting attacked were low, and if there even was someone out there hunting for them, Hanzo could see that person point-blank. It made things incredibly boring.

He watched the sky for a while, the colours changed as the sun rose. The train’s movements eventually made him sick and forced him to look away. He studied the gun he had in hand. His thumb went over all the small details and engraved etchings put into it. In scratchy letters, he found the words “from dad” on the bottom of the handle. His thumb went over the phrase, then stayed in place to hide it.

To kill was what Hanzo was taught to do. His father had taught him to think of himself as an animal hunting another. “Because it is natural for animals to kill.” He said. “And Humans are animals, too. We just think of ourselves more highly because we have thumbs.” As a child, that made Hanzo laugh. As an adult though, Hanzo could not help but to see it as one step towards his corruption. 

Genji had been a bird. A sparrow, like their father had called him. But who would be so cruel to hurt such a sparrow? So small and fragile, a common house cat could take one down. It is cruel to kill a sparrow, and it had been done by Hanzo’s hands. He had not been a cat; he embodied an entire pride.

The train’s horn blew Hanzo out of his thoughts. He sat up straight and looked over the railing to see what they were moving towards. In the distance was the shape of mountains hiding a small town behind it.

“McCree.” Hanzo said. He leaned back away from the railing and turned to the cowboy. He kicked his leg.

McCree flinched awake.

“There is a town up ahead.” He explained.

McCree groaned. “Really? How long did I even get to sleep for?”

“I would say perhaps an hour.”

Another groan. “Okay. Well—” He sat up and looked over the railing to see the town for himself. “Oh. I Know where we are.”

“You do?”

“Yeah. And I think we should just sit this one out. Maybe catch another hour of sleep, or somethin’.”

Hanzo’s brows furrowed. “Why is that? I would prefer to not sit here and twiddle my thumbs when we can get off here and figure things out.”

“Let’s just say I am not a friendly face around here—”

“Are you a friendly face anywhere?” he interrupted.

McCree bit down on his bottom lip and stared at Hanzo.

As the train rolled into the edge of town, its pace slowed down.

Hanzo glared at McCree back. His fists clenched at his sides.

The horn sounded off, vibrating inside both of their chests.

Quickly, Hanzo stood up. Before McCree could say anything about it, Hanzo swung his leg over the railing and jumped onto the moving ground below. He landed on his knees with the palm of his hands driving down into the rough land. The sound of his racing heart masked the sound of McCree’s shouting from the train. Hunch over, Hanzo looked over his shoulder and watched McCree stand at the back of the train. Though slower than it was before, the train was still quick to take the cowboy into the distance.

It was an extreme move, but to have that space created between him and McCree gave him the ability to breathe freely again. At the same time, regret spread throughout his chest.

The cowboy only caused him frustration, Hanzo told himself. He was better off without him. He could figure things out on his own. It would have been nice if he had thought everything through for a beat longer, though. The bag of looted supplies remained on the caboose. It would have been nice if he grabbed a candy bar or snagged some cash. But, he did not. Now he must suffer the consequences.

He pushed himself up and stood, wiping his hands against his pants. His palms had gotten scratched up and little spots of blood started to form. He wiped that off onto his pants too.

More regret started to sink in. Panic was being repressed by deep breaths.

Hanzo did not even have a shirt on, just the suit jacket. Dried blood still remained on his face in little patches. Sweat covered him like a glaze. He looked like a man that had walked through hell and back.

He pinched the bridge of his nose and squeezed his eyes closed.

There had been situations worse than this, he repeated over in his mind. There had been situations worse than this.

His hand moved from his nose and ran through his greasy hair. Taking in one last deep breath, he opened his eyes again.

Ahead of him was the town, slowly waking up for the day. Old brick buildings looked as though they had been left untouched for years and a mixture of hovering and grounded vehicles drove down the road between the structures. Not far from where he was a 7-eleven, standing out of place compared to its western style surroundings.

Dreading every step, Hanzo walked into the 7-eleven. The lights were painfully bright for his eyes and the humming of electricity filled his ears. He rubbed at his eyes as if it would change anything. It did not.

“Um, excuse me?” He saw a young teenage girl standing behind the counter in uniform. Her eyes went wide at the sight of him. “Are you okay, sir?”

“Is there a restroom I can use?” Hanzo asked gruffly.

The girl started to fidget with her hands. “Well, um, it’s for employees only, but I uh—I can let you use it.” She reached from her back pocket and pulled out a key.

She placed it onto the countertop and as Hanzo reached out for it, it was clear that she noticed the blood underneath his fingernails. A gasp passed her lips and she immediately recoiled back. Her eyes went straight for the phone next to her.

“I fell off my motorbike.” Hanzo sputtered out, then sighed. “It has been a rough night.”

The girl turned her head towards the window that framed the empty parking lot outside. She turned back and tried to smile. Hanzo tried to force a smile back before turning away with the key.

Hanzo unlocked the washroom and turned on a flickering light. He made sure to lock the door behind him. Standing in front of the mirror, he turned on the tap and the water that came out was questionably tinted. There was not a lot of time for him to think too deeply about it.

Cupping his hands under the water, he brought the water up and splashed it into his face, squeezing his eyes closed. He used the palm of his hands to scrub away the dried blood and then used his nails to pick out the blood from underneath them the best he could. He also took some water and slicked his hair back. From the dispenser on the wall, he pulled out a sheet of paper towel and patted himself dry.

Throwing it into the trash, Hanzo looked back into the mirror and tweaked his appearance. Slicking his hair back once more, fixing the buttons up on the front of his suit jacket, and brushing off any other imperfections. There were many he could not get rid of, such as the small gashes on his face and the slight bruising that bloomed across his skin. Over time though, they would heal.

That was when he noticed the corkboard in the reflection behind him. More importantly, he noticed that McCree’s face was on it amongst others. He spun around on his heels and looked at the board itself.

For sure, it was McCree on there, framed in a wanted sign. But in the picture, he looked younger. The cowboy was missing the crow’s feet at the edges of his eyes and had less facial hair. Across his lips, he sported a cocky grin. The poster itself looked worn and had yellowed over the years, it probably hung there for more than two decades. And the bounty reward above his head had been whiteout over with his current number of sixty million dollars.

Next to his poster was a mug shot of a woman with a larger round robot standing beside her. The bounty number was just as high as McCree’s

Seeing the poster up close, Hanzo did not blame him for skipping town. At the same time, it serves him right. McCree was an idiot to not be careful from the very beginning.

Thinking of being careful, from on the other side of the door, he could hear the girl who worked behind the counter talk to no one else in particular. With one last look in the mirror, Hanzo walked out of the washroom.

The girl remained behind the counter with a phone in hand. Her voice dropped to a whisper as Hanzo approached closer to her as he made his way out of the store. Giving her a pointed look, she fell completely silent.

Over the phone, a voice asked if she was okay.

“I am sorry if I have frightened you with my appearance. It was not my intention.” Hanzo said clearly. He slid the washroom keys onto the counter and towards her. “Thank you. Have a nice day.”

With that, he passed through the 7-eleven doors and out into the new town.

He was not sure of where to go, but he went wherever his feet took him. As the sun rose above him, he wandered further into the town that slowly became more alive. Civilians he saw stared right back at him. With a place being so small, it would be easy to point out who does not belong. He started to fidget with the cuffs of sleeves and running his hands through his hair enough to ruin it.

Most of the vehicles that passed him were trucks, and nearly everyone wore a cowboy hat. As he walked down the cracked sidewalk, he thought he saw McCree with his hat round a corner of a nearby building. It could not have been him though. He had left his hat behind and surely the man was long gone.

At some point, he passed by an old payphone booth that sat outside a local business. Hanzo stopped in front of it. He then frowned upon it. He will give McCree one thing, and this is the fact that his idea was not all that terrible. It simply was not foolproof, unfortunately.

On the ledge of underneath the phone sat two quarters. Very conveniently, a small faded sticker read that the price of a phone call was fifty cents. It was as though someone served it to him on a silver platter. Yet, there was no one to call.

A heavy hand clapped down onto Hanzo’s shoulder. Immediately, he spun around with his elbow driving into the torso of the person behind him, causing them to let out a loud ‘oof’. He looked up and saw the person’s face, the man’s face. His frown deepened.

“McCree.” He grumbled out; his breath reached the cowboy’s skin. They nearly nose to nose before Hanzo took a quick step back. “You do not approach me like that.” His words spat out.

The cowboy put a hand over where he had been hit. “I wasn’t thinkin’ right. I was just in such a rush to find you.”

“I thought you wanted to skip over to the next town.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t think you would just jump off a train because you’d disagreed with me? Are you insane? I jumped off at the other side of town and just been looking everywhere for you.” McCree raised his voice.

“I did not ask you to.” Hanzo tilted his chin up. “I am capable of figuring out a way to get back by myself. _And_ , I would prefer to,” He stuck out a finger and jabbed it into McCree’s chest, right above where his hand laid. “because you are the insufferable to be around!”

“So are you! But you don’t see me fuckin’ jumpin’ of a train because of it!” McCree exclaimed as he smacked Hanzo’s finger off.

Hanzo’s brows furrowed down into his eyes and he let out a deep huff out through his nose.

“And you honestly think that you can figure things out by yourself? Do you even know where we are? And you’re at the phone, but earlier you said we had no one to call? Huh? And you think _I’m_ an idiot!” 

His words came out fast, “Are you saying that I’m an idiot? Well,” they started to stumble. “at least I’m not the one with a wanted poster in a 7-eleven!”

McCree’s mouth closed shut and his lips twitched as he fought against a smile. “That’s still in there?” His anger had dropped.

“I mean,” Hanzo’s own frustration fell out from his tone. “I assume. It looked old; you were younger in the photo.”

Surprisingly, the cowboy let out a sigh. “We sound like children.” He said quietly and the smile on his face faded. “I should apologize.”

“Apologize for what exactly?” Hanzo dared. 

McCree scowled at that, then went on to speak. “For being such an ass. Pushing you to the point where you jumped off a train, I guess.”

He waited for the cowboy to say more. But he did not.

“Is that it?”

“I’d imagined this to be the part where you apologized to me now.” McCree shrugged, his boot kicked into the ground and picked up dust. “It would be fair.”

“Well.” Hanzo started saying slowly. “Perhaps, I am sorry for jumping off the train. And if you truly blame me, then I apologize for getting us into this mess.”

“I don’t blame you. Not really. I should have been more careful too.” The cowboy explained. “I went into the washroom looking for you since you never came out. The guy jumped me the moment the door closed.”

“Oh.” His voice trailed.

“Yeah.” He echoed. “I thought that you abandoned the mission.”

“I would not.”

McCree could not say ‘I know’. He did not believe it quite yet.

In the distance, a train horn could be heard. Across the street, a man stood underneath a tree with his hat tipped down, not seen by the two.

“Listen.” McCree started up again. “This town is shit, and I know that we’re maybe five or six hours away from Los Angeles. I say that we catch another train and just ride it out till we get there.”

Hanzo irked a brow. “Did you know this before? Before I jumped?”

“Yeah.”

He took in a deep breath, slowly, and clenched his fists at his sides. “Then why did you not say so earlier?”

McCree said nothing.

“If you did, then we would have not had to go through all of this?”

Silence.

Hanzo watched as McCree wordlessly swung the straps of the duffle bag off his back and held onto it as he dug through the supplies. He pulled out a candy bar and held it out to Hanzo. “Hungry?” He asked.

“No.” But Hanzo took the bar anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I'll be honest and say that this chapter is really rough too me. So if you enjoyed this chapter, I am glad. Thank you for reading, as always! Much love, from me to you.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *not fully edited

Hanzo and McCree caught another train a little after noon. It was not as sneaky as they wished it had been. While they were running to catch onto the railing of one of the carts, a man in a truck drove by the same time they made their jump. There were too many men with trucks in America, Hanzo thought. Too many.

The cart they jumped on had railing next to a metal ladder that went up to the open top. It was filled with rocks and the two had to dig a pit in order to not be so disturbed by the wind. Far from comfortable, but neither of them was in a position to request for it to be.

With nothing over top of them, the sun casted it’s rays down threateningly. Hanzo’s black crown of hair could fry an egg, meanwhile McCree shed from his leather jacket and used it as a pillow overtop all the rocks. The jug of water sat between them and sloshed around during the bumpy ride. In such a rush to ‘get the hell outta of doge’ (as McCree said), they forgot to refill the jug. To take a sip felt like a risk to be the one to blame for drinking it dry. 

Hanzo let out a groan and leaned hunched forward over his knees. “So, what now?” He asked.

“What?” McCree asked back, raising his voice over the wind.

“What now?” He yelled.

“Twiddle our thumbs.”

As if to make Hanzo laugh, McCree showed off his hands, circling his thumbs around each other. Hanzo looked at him silently, blinking.

“Well.” McCree’s hands fell back into his lap. “Did you have something in mind then?”

“Yes, I did, actually. I thought that perhaps we could stop in the next town we pass, run some errands. We need more water. To have some actual food would be nice too.”

“You know I’m not good to have around those little towns. My face is probably plastered up in all those folk’s washrooms. And they all carry guns, even the children! I could cross a twelve-year-old and get my head popped off!”

“I understand that, so what I am suggesting is that I go in to all these shops by myself.”

“Okay, that was the obvious conclusion. But then what? I just stand outside, waiting for a twelve-year-old to cross me?”

Hanzo sighed. “You walked halfway across the last little town we were in, and no child decapitated you. I think you will manage. Anyhow, do you remember how much money we have?”

McCree moved their duffle bag from his side to in front of him. He unzipped it and started to dig through. “When I snatched his wallet, I counted just a little over three hundred dollars.” He pulled out the wallet, made out of worn-out leather, and carefully counted the cash. Hanzo could imagine it all blowing away in the wind. “Oh, yeah, we have more than enough.”

“Give me a number.”

“Three thirty-seven.”

“Not bad.”

“Yeah.” McCree tucked the wallet back into the bag and zipped it closed. After putting it back to his side, his eyes looked up and down Hanzo’s body. “Maybe with the money, you could get yourself an actual shirt.”

Hanzo’s cheeks rushed with heat. He hoped it was from the sun.

The next town was easy to spot. It was not hidden behind any mountains and could be seen from miles away. It looked larger than the last with how all the buildings spread out wider in front of them. Other than that, the town was just as rundown and untouched as the last.

This time, the two jumped off together. They got off just before the train entered the town where no one could see them, and from there they walked. The whole time McCree kept his hand hovering over the side of his hip where the gun hid between his waistband. His eyes continuously shifted from side to side, looking for anyone that could be in sight. The most that Hanzo could do was keep himself on guard.

He missed the weight of his equipment. It made him feel too light; even a little exposed.

Walking into town, McCree led Hanzo through. They walked in the shadows of buildings and did their best to keep their heads down.

“Perhaps while we are here,” Hanzo’s voice was low, he felt as though he needed to whisper. “you could get yourself a new hat.”

They were walking through a small and sparse neighbourhood that was leading up to a small corner store next to a highway. The grass on the front lawns were either overgrown, dead, or both. On the front porch there was a child that looked up from his toy, watching the men go by silently.

“What makes you say that?” McCree matched his tone.

He shrugged. “Just a thought. I think it would be easier to hide that face of yours.”

“I guess.”

“I also find it odd to see you without one on.” The words slipped out of Hanzo’s mouth. Not that it was not true, but it felt weird to admit it.

Maybe McCree found it odd too. He looked at Hanzo with one of his brows arched up. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

The cowboy hummed in thought. “I don’t want to spend all we got, but I will say, I do miss havin’ a hat on.” He turned back to look at what was in front of them. They finally got out of the neighbourhood and now passed by older shops; some were completely abandoned. “Not gonna lie, feel naked without it.”

“I feel the same. With my own weaponry, that is.”

“I get that. This old thing,” He patted at the hidden gun. “feels nothin’ like my own.”

The concrete underneath them became more cracked as they walked onto a corner store lot. Two men stood outside smoking and watched as the two agents approached. One of them tipped his hat up and squinted to get a better look, McCree turned his head the other way.

“I don’t want to stand out here with them.” He leaned in to whisper into Hanzo’s ear. “Scary looking fellas.”

“So what, now you are just going to walk in.”

“I sure am.”

When the door opened, bells above announced their presence. There were five others in the store and all their eyes were on them. Luckily, everyone seemed to easily dismiss the two and returned to their own business.

The store was small and the aisle were crammed. The older woman who stood behind the register puffed at a vape while scrolling through a tablet. McCree slowly started to walk through the store and Hanzo followed behind. They went right by a rack full of candy.

Hanzo paused. On the middle shelf was a line of Sour Patch Kids. The last few days, all he had to eat was candy bars, but the idea of having some sour patch kids really hit his sweet tooth.

They also reminded him of when he was younger. His father had an American associate that tried to kiss up to him by bringing over American candies for him and Genji. Sour Patch Kids were always in the mix. Hanzo could go through them like nothing, meanwhile Genji could not. The candies were too sour for him, making his lips pucker and eyes squeeze shut.

Lost in the memory, Hanzo’s hand reached out and quickly swiped for a bag. He shoved it into his pocket and quickly stepped forward to catch up with McCree.

The cowboy stood at the back of the store where fridges lined the wall. He pulled open one of the doors and had two of the largest water bottles tucked under his arm. As Hanzo neared, he pointed to the wall next to them, covered in hooks filled with t-shirts and shelves with other memorabilia.

“I think you should get that you.” He said, jutting his finger out further towards on of the shirts.

The ugliest shirt on the wall, not that any of them were pretty. It was an intense blue with a black outline of what looked like a clipart bear bursting through a wall while holding the American flag. At the bottom in bold letters it read ‘land of the free’.

“Absolutely not.” Hanzo muttered out, reaching out for a different shirt. Still not better than the last, but it was white with a different clipart bear plastered on the front that did not sport the flag or a terrible phrase. “And, I think you should get _that_.”

Hanzo nodded his head towards one of the hats that hung on the wall. It matched the terrible blue shirt with the same terrible bear holding the American flag.

McCree looked at it and hummed. “Maybe I will.”

He did get the hat among the other things they got from the corner store. Large bottles of water, tons of protein bars, two wrapped soggy sandwiches, a bag of chips. They also bought some bandages, and the thinnest cheapest blanket in the store.

“Though I’m against taking from small businesses,” McCree said. “I got these.”

They were sitting in an abandoned park, hidden by shade from a tree. As a gentle breeze passed them, the empty swings on the playground squeaked. The cowboy pulled out something out from his pocket and dropped it down onto the grass between them. Five packs of mint gum.

In response, Hanzo pulled out his bag of sour patch kids and added it into the pile of gum.

McCree let out a low whistle. “Not bad, not bad.” Then, he threw down a packet of beef jerky from his jacket’s inner pocket. “You got anythin’ else?” He questioned with a crooked smirk.

“I did not realize we were having a competition.”

“No, we weren’t”

“Well then.” Hanzo reached into his other pocket and pulled out a travelling toothbrush, toothpaste, and a tiny deodorant stick. “I got this for myself. _I_ like to keep up with hygiene.”

“What do you mean? I got mint gum!”

He looked at the cowboy flatly. “You cannot be serious.”

McCree rolled his eyes. “Of course not, it was just a joke!”

“Jokes are supposed to be funny.”

“Geeze.”

They fell into silence that for once did not feel awkward. Still not comfortable, but bearable.

Hanzo tilted his head back to gaze at the green leaves above him, sunlight peeked through the cracks and turned spots of his skin into gold. He closed his eyes, slowly drawing in a breath.

He heard the sound of rustling plastic as McCree picked and tore open a pack of gum. The scent of mint was consuming the air around, masking sweat and every other dirty thing that covered them both.

_To have a shower_ , Hanzo thought. The idea of hot water running down his back was enough to make him shudder.

“May I propose an idea?” He said, opening his eyes, continuing to look at the leaves.

“Shoot.”

“When we came into town, I believe I saw a motel along the highway. Perhaps we could take a room there. Take the time to tidy ourselves up.”

McCree hummed. “A room would cost us eighty dollars. We wouldn’t even be stayin’ the night. Would be a waste of time too.”

“Are we really on a time constraint? To get back, that is?”

“We were sent out on a mission and had the duty to report to those waiting for us back on base.” His tone lowered. “They don’t know if we’re okay, or if we’re dead.”

Of course, Hanzo knew that, he felt silly for bringing up the idea. It was just something he would have done on his own travels. There was no time limit for him then, no one who might have worried. Like a cat, he did as pleased.

But now, he was a dog on a leash in the thoughts of those at Overwatch.

_“But I’m not a dog! I’m just a man who is just trying to do his duty!”_ He had told McCree.

Yes, he had a job to fulfill. The bar in Los Angeles. it felt so far away, like it had happened months ago. Getting back seemed to be part of the job too, but his mind separated the two.

It all felt weird in his mind, everything that was happening.

“You’re right.” Hanzo said. “But I still think that it is worth our time to clean up. I would not want to get any of our wounds to get infected.”

McCree hummed once more. “I guess it would be nice. However, I want to shower first.”

Hanzo looked down from the leaves and at the Cowboy. “Deal.”

The motel did not eighty dollars, but only sixty. As Hanzo walked into the main building to check in as McCree waited outside, the first thing he smelled was mold. Then cat piss. Then smoke. The room key that Hanzo was given felt sticky. He tried not to think much of it.

The room itself was small with the queen size bed taking half of the space. Styrofoam ceiling tiles above them were stained brown from water damage and had clearly dripped a stain on the carpet. Hanzo dragged his finger along the top of the nightstand, taking off a layer of dust. When McCree dropped their duffle bag onto the bed, it gave out with a loud squeak.

The cowboy placed his hands on his hips and did a small spin to fully look at the place. “This is a shithole, but not the worse one I’ve been in.” He tossed off his hat down onto the bed. “Welp, I’m going to take my shower now.”

True to his word, McCree wandered off and disappeared behind the bathroom door. There was a loud sputtering sound followed by running water.

Hanzo stood near the bed, staring down onto the blanket. What lies under neath it could only be sin made up of questionable stains. It was totally possible that someone had been murdered in that room. Hanzo had done so in one that was very similar.

Not wanting to touch the bed, Hanzo sat himself down onto the edge of the nightstand instead. From his pocket he pulled out the sour patch kids and ripped the bag open. Quickly the smell of pure sugar masked over every other scent in the room and took him back to a place of innocence.

A place in which He laughed at Genji for not being able to handle the sourness of the candy. When they were both children.

Taking his first piece, he was met with familiarity.

He relaxed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh wow, hello. Thank you for reading this chapter! It has been awhile since I've updated and that's for a number of reasons. To quickly explain, I've been putting more focus into my own novel and this fic is just a side project. I've also been struggling with *mental illness* so my motivation for things is like at 47%.   
> Anyhow, for those who may have waited for chapter, this is my holiday gift from me to you.
> 
> ALSO! I cannot say when chapter eight will be out. Getting back into writing this has been hard but I am trying. <3


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